


Misfits and Madmen

by Phasingphoenix



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-03-11 05:01:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 25,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3315059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phasingphoenix/pseuds/Phasingphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dragon Age: Inquisition as seen from the eyes of the various characters. Heavy reliance on the POVs of Trevelyan and Cullen, but there are various scenes involving other companions. </p><p>My first story here, I hope you enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Wait

Fires were burning in several places, warm and inviting and sheltered even in this forsaken wind. The Commander of the Inquisition’s forces stood near none of them. 

Cassandra had ventured into the cold to bring him back, but he would not go. Not only would he rather be alone, but he couldn’t bear to let anyone else see him this way. Pain was etched in every line of his weary face and he had not the strength to mask it.

By now, his knees were soaked through his tough trousers, the snow biting into his skin like a blade. He couldn’t stand, so the suffering was unavoidable.

To anyone who asked, he said he was waiting. She would return, she had to. Any moment now, she’d come running over the hill, jog to a panting stop, and pull back her hood. She’d give him some form of smile designed to keep worry at bay, and she’d say some smart comment about how the Elder One had turned out to actually be disappointing. 

But no one arrived over the hill, least of all a hero.

Such thoughts were felt in his heart like sharp arrows, launched from the bows of Fate and Fortune. Someone must be having a laugh up there. Wasn’t it funny? The only hope, the end-all, be-all of this cause was struck down because of _his_ idea. Hilarious.

Maker preserve him, he’d doomed them all. She should have been the one to lead the people out. A military commander was essentially replaceable, but what were the odds of a second Herald being sent? They couldn’t even take care of one, and he wouldn’t be surprised if Andraste just left them to their own devices at this point. 

She had trusted him so completely. She wasn’t a military leader, had never planned to be. The first sign of trouble, she’d placed her faith in him. _“Cullen, give me a plan, anything!”_

She had needed his guidance, and he’d sent her off alone. 

It was tactical, strategic, the way he’d been taught. That didn’t make it any sort of right.

So many people were at his back, barely curbing their fears of what was to come. He couldn’t face them, but he could either return to camp, or slowly freeze to death. Guilty as he felt, it would do no good to cost the Inquisition two of its leaders. When the night was at its darkest, he turned in.

.   .   .

“A storm is on its way,” Leliana reported grimly. “We _must_ find better shelter, or the Inquisition is finished at the hands of nature.”

The other advisers looked at her, tension in their faces. “Can we not hold off for another day?” Cullen asked weakly.

There was a twist to the sister’s mouth that warned of coming thunder. “Would you like for whatever is left of us to freeze to death in the vain hope that a miracle will arrive?” she snapped. Josephine reached out to her, but it was as though Leliana didn’t see. She stepped forward, causing Cullen to secretly tremble. She was one of the few people able to do such a thing. “We move forward now, or we never move forward again. Gather your supplies, Commander, and make haste.” 

He gritted his teeth, but gave a short nod and left the tent. Once out in the cold again, he rubbed his calloused fingers over his face and wondered just how any mortal could be expected to handle this. 

“I take it we have no good news,” said a throaty voice from his right.

He looked to Cassandra, his feeling of desperation now familiar. “We have to move on, we can’t wait anymore. We’ve lost our only chance at victory.”

Cassandra stiffened and he realized that, once again, he’d stuck his foot in his mouth. “That is not all she was,” she said, her anger coming out much more quietly than Leliana’s. Her arms folded over her chest in a rarely-seen gesture of low confidence. She was looking beyond Cullen, at the white expanse devoid of any life. “A _person_ gave her life for us, and do we mourn her? No, we grieve for a broken symbol and wallow in self pity.” She shook her head in disgust, and Cullen felt another twinge of guilt. “I thought you would have acted differently.”

He looked down at his hands. “It’s better… that I don’t.” It was easier to remember Trevelyan the Herald rather than Trevelyan the Charmer. She had been thrown into this madness with no idea what she was doing, and instead of surrendering herself to a constant state of panic, she’d been all smiles and jokes. 

_“I didn’t mean to start lecturing you.”_

_“I don’t mind getting lectured.” Wink._

He still blushed when he thought about it. 

_“Any vows of celibacy?”_

Maker’s breath, had that question really come from her mouth? And after what had been such a pleasant conversation about the Order. He hadn’t been able to _look_ at her in the war room after that. 

And now… now, he wouldn’t look at her again. It was better to pretend he’d only ever seen her from a distance than remember how she used to make him catch fire at the drop of a hat. 

_“Cullen, give me a plan, anything!”_

He almost cringed at the memory. At second thought, perhaps her faith in him didn’t merely stem from inexperience.

Cassandra was still standing there, though her expression had softened as she looked at him in the long silence. “I’m sorry. Maybe you do understand.”

He looked at her, jaw feeling tight. “It would be better not to,” he said before walking away to round up his men.

.   .   .

He couldn’t help but feel like they were leaving something behind. They were miles from Haven now, tucked into a snug valley that kept the worst of the wind and snow away. The snow underfoot had already become packed and glassy with their treading. But it was only temporary, only until they found new lodgings.

Or until they all perished.

Despite the distance and the worries, Cullen still watched. He would stand with the patrols at the entrance to their camp, pretending he was at the ready for an attack while he watched for a grey hood against the white snow. 

Presently, he felt someone at his side, far closer than any of his soldiers were comfortable getting. He glanced over, then down to see a dwarf with crossbow in hand. “Ah,” he said, just because he felt like he had to say something.

Varric glanced up, then set his eyes back on the horizon. “I’m not sweet on ya, Curly, don’t go getting any ideas.”

“I wasn’t.”

The dwarf shrugged one shoulder, as though trying to get rid of an ache. “I just thought, y’know, another archer in case of an attack wouldn’t hurt.”

Cullen looked down at him again, seeing the worry lines set deep in Varric’s face. This was about more than guard duty. “Then you’re welcome here,” he said simply before resuming his vigil. He’d be damned if he was about to discuss his muddled thoughts with Varric Tethras. The way his luck was going, his words would end up in some terrible best-seller in the Free Marches.

As usual, however, it was Varric who let his mouth run away. He was a storyteller, and words were usually his only comfort, provided a bottle of good alcohol was first nowhere to be found. “She reminded me a lot of Hawke.”

Cullen’s brow furrowed. “The upstart Champion of Kirkwall? Are we remembering the same Hawke?”

That drew a short chuckle from the dwarf. “Trevelyan’s a bit of an upstart, too. Couldn’t swing a dead nug without hitting someone who wanted to pick a fight, and she wasn’t one to say no. Should have seen her in Val Royeaux, telling those Chantry clerks to shut the hell up like she was running the place.” His laughter faded, and he cleared his throat. “But, y’know, Hawke was just kind of the mom of the group.”

“Are you _certain_ we're speaking of the same Hawke?”

“If you’d been there, you’d agree,” Varric said. “Always running around doing stuff for her friends, making sure everybody was okay, picking up presents while we trekked all over the damn city. Once she got the house, everybody was free to just waltz in any time they liked. I saw the same stuff in Trevelyan. Lady-turned-Herald, stuck halfway across Thedas in the blighted mountains, and she never once told anybody ‘no.’” He scowled for a moment, then shook his head. “Should’ve helped her practice that a little more,” he added in a mutter.

Cullen wanted him to stop talking. The more people humanized Trevelyan, the harder it was to accept she was gone. Every moment she didn’t appear felt like a moment closer to when she would, regardless of how much time had been spent standing in the cold. 

“Y’know, I think I can almost see her.”

“Enough, Varric,” he said, rubbing a hand over his brow.

“No, Curly, look. Over there by those pines.”

His head shot up and he looked, really looked through the snow. It could have been the dark of night, or the flakes falling all around, or even just a damned hallucination, but he _thought_ he saw something moving beyond their perimeter.

Something _was_ moving, and as it neared, it was clearly some _one_. Stumbling slightly, dragging their long legs, coat flapping in the wind. “Maker’s breath,” he whispered, the soft expression torn from his lungs as though he was looking upon the Creator Himself. “It’s her!” He was dashing out through the snow before another thought could register. She seemed to see him, stopping her advance and then teetering dangerously. He caught her as she collapsed, holding her gingerly even as he wanted to crush her against himself. She was _freezing_. Maker, how had she survived all the way here?

He realized Josephine, Leliana, Cassandra, and several scouts were around him now, and someone pulled back Trevelyan’s hood to confirm that yes, this was the Herald and yes, she still breathed. He shifted his hold, putting one arm behind her back and the other under her knees, and he carried her into their little tent village to recover.

.   .   .

Everything had happened so quickly, Cullen wondered when he even found time to breathe. Between finding Trevelyan (and with her, their hope), travelling to Skyhold, and getting everything settled, time to eat or sleep had begun to get lost in the shuffle. A nervous sort of energy kept everyone going, not to mention their messiah’s claim to the title of Inquisitor. People not only had to go without rest, but they felt like they could and were willing.

While Josephine worried what it would do to the strength of all workers, Cullen was going right along with the other sleepless soldiers. In time, things would slow down, but for right now, everything was madness and it was almost wonderful. There was time to act and to plan, but not to think too much about the enemy or the losses. Their new arrangements were far superior to those in Haven, and the secluded nature of the fortress made everyone feel that much more free, more independent. The Inquisition surely was a body all its own, and that was worth losing a night of sleep or a meal here and there.

Someone else had noticed the bad habits beginning to form, however. The “mom of the group,” as Varric had put it, was pleased with everyone’s efforts, but had drafted an announcement that if everyone wasn’t in bed that night by curfew, she’d throw the lot of them into the recently-discovered dungeons for a day. In her opinion, exactly the same amount of work would be done there as it would if they spent another night burning the midnight oil.

Cullen, as commander, obviously thought he was exempt from this. 

“We set up as best we could at Haven, but could never prepare for an Archdemon,” he admitted to the Inquisitor standing at his elbow. Distance was easier if he submerged himself in work. 

“Do you ever sleep?” she asked with slight amusement.

“If Corypheus strikes again, we need to be ready-”

“Commander,” she said, tone more insistent. He glanced up, seeing her eyebrow cocked with slight annoyance. In her hand was a plate full of food.

“Ah…. Inquisitor, you shouldn’t have.”

She dropped the plate on top of the maps and charts he was studying. “I’ve already sent Cassandra to her chambers, don’t make me shame you in front of your recruits.”

The image was both hilarious and humiliating, so he sighed and dropped the pencil he was holding. “Thank you,” he said.

She nearly smirked. “Was that so hard?”

“If you want to know the truth, that felt like dropping the world on its head,” he said lightly. Then some of his gravity returned. “Of course, you probably know exactly how that is. I know it seems like a lot resting on your shoulders, but morale has improved greatly since you accepted the role of Inquisitor. You’ve proven yourself a worthy leader with Haven.”

The smile she gave him seemed tight, and she looked away for a moment. 

Cullen had kept himself back this time, advising from a distance as he should have done before. That, coupled with the flurry of recent activity, had left him blind to how much Haven had affected her. She still made smart comments, was still ready to put her boot up the ass of any naysayer, but the lightness was gone. She might have thought herself dead more than anyone else had. 

“I’m glad that you - that so many made it out of there,” she said, avoiding his gaze. “Of course, I’m glad you’re here. You do so much work, I’m afraid things would fall apart without you.”

He gave a slight laugh and felt his cheeks glowing again, and then he chanced a look at her. His heart gave a strange stutter at the sight of her brown eyes, suddenly unfocused and so filled with the worry she tried so hard to hide. It was ridiculous to think so much was expected of a single being. 

She began to turn away, and words started pouring unbidden from his mouth. “What you did was a miracle in itself. You stayed behind. You could have-” He stopped. They both knew what could have happened. His mouth tightened and he forced himself to filter. “I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word.” 

She looked at him, and for once, she didn’t hide the heaviness in her eyes. Maybe she believed he was sincere, but she didn’t believe he had the power to uphold this promise. He wasn’t sure he did, either. “Thank you, Commander,” she said, almost stiffly. Then her humor began to creep back into her face. “But if you think nice words will get you out of a sentencing, you’re wrong. In bed by the bell, or you sleep in the dungeons.”

He exhaled as she walked away, reeling from the heated moment. He really did need sleep. He turned back to the food on the table, which was probably cold by now, and did his best to stop thinking about the Inquisitor so much.


	2. The Library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian receives a pleasant surprise shortly after the move to Skyhold.

“Aaalright then,” called a voice that harbored both weariness and anticipation. Inquisitor Trevelyan cleared the last few stairs and entered the cozy little corner Dorian had claimed in the library. He glanced up from his book to see her standing with hands on her hips and glancing around the area. He thought he ought to stand on ceremony, but quickly decided against it when she spotted the nearest chair and collapsed into it. “Talk.”

He raised an eyebrow and closed the book. She’d been gone for a week to some desert or another, and in that time, many a dirty look had been thrown his way. A Chantry mother had even tried to persuade him to go home (as though _that_ would happen). The only reason he was at all worried about the whispered remarks was because he knew enough of them would be able to hold power over the Inquisitor. To have a fair and balanced institution, she had to listen to her people. This would be interesting. “What about, mighty Inquisitor?”

She waved a hand. “I don’t care, really, just make it look like it’s serious. Ever since I got back from the Forbidden Oasis, people have been jumping at the chance to tell me that you need to be banished, among other various punishments.” She looked over at him. “From what I’m able to gather, those punishments are for nothing other than your existence, and you’ve been rather well behaved aside from the odd blushing scout here and there. I take it your tongue is more dangerous than your magic in these walls?”

He blinked in surprise, then laughed aloud at her little speech. He knew he’d stuck around for a reason. “I suppose that’s one way you could put it, yes.”

She smiled slightly, and that put him more at ease. “This is partly my fault, and I apologize for that. I should have done… _something_ to prove I do like you before I ran off again. Things were happening rather quickly, and I got carried away.”

Now she was apologizing? Maker’s teeth, she wasn’t going to get far in politics with an attitude like that. “Really, my lady, think nothing of it. I’ve dealt with enough prejudice to handle my own beautiful self.” He draped one leg over the other with perfect nonchalance, reaching for his book once more.

Trevelyan’s weariness dropped, however, and she leaned forward in her chair. “Dorian, I want you to listen to me,” she said quietly, and he stopped. “You saved my life. No one else knows what I went through with you in that time skip, but I know, and my opinion is the one that matters here.”

He sighed and leaned forward himself. Granted, when he joined the Inquisition, he’d gotten the feeling that its leader had a lot to learn, but he hadn’t been expecting to feel the need to tutor her himself. “With all due respect, Inquisitor, that’s not true. Enough little voices crying ‘blood magic’ turns into one loud voice shouting ‘execution.’ If your people feel unsafe, you’ll be forced to heed them.”

“You’re a knowledgeable man, Dorian, and I assume you’re familiar with the term ‘willful ignorance,’” she said. “It is _my_ duty, as Inquisitor, to find the truth of matters and educate the people. The truth here is that you’re our ally, and a damn good one at that.” She leaned back in her chair again, giving him _that look_ like a cat who’d just captured a mouse. “I’d like you to join my inner circle, Dorian, and to come with me on missions.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I realize what a catch I am, my lady, but don’t you have your pick of mages that _won’t_ lead to your forced resignation?”

She waved her hand again, such a silly gesture for such a powerful woman. “Solas has his hands full painting my glorious feats on every inch of Skyhold, and I honestly can’t come away from a conversation with Vivienne without feeling used.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Will you _please_ join my group? If you do, I won’t have to tell everyone about how impassioned and soft you are on the inside.”

He scoffed to hide how honored he felt. “By the old gods, anything but that. All a man has is his reputation, you know.”

“So you’ll come?”

He sighed heavily. “I suppose I can’t say no to you, can I?”

She smiled at him in that satisfied way of hers. “Good. I’m about to go explore the Western Approach a bit, and then I’m told I _have_ to go to a masquerade. Something about rescuing Empress Celene or some such thing. Honestly, I don’t understand what all the fuss is about.”

He grinned. “Ah, a masquerade. I’ll have to dust off my dress clothes. It’s been so long since I’ve attended a social function of any merit.”

There was a gleam in her eye as she stood. “In Orlais, I think you’ll feel right at home. You’ll prove yourself yet, Dorian.”

He watched her walk away, feeling vaguely uncomfortable about the warm feeling spreading through his chest. Never in his tumultuous life had he thought a woman would be this important to him.


	3. The Masquerade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen tries being clever and finds it doesn't work for him.

"Seen anything suspicious?" Trevelyan asked of Leliana, gazing about the ballroom.

"Nothing as yet, but my eyes are open," said the Nightingale. "On the other hand, I _have_ seen things both horrifyingly garish and frightfully amusing."

"I'm having a hard time taking these nobles seriously," the Inquisitor agreed.

"It's not always the nobles." Leliana was grinning, looking at something not far away. Trevelyan followed her gaze and her eyes widened as she realized Cullen was being positively swarmed by admirers. It was practically a garden of silken skirts who giggled and blushed and fanned themselves silly, a source of apparently mammoth discomfort on the part of the commander.

"Monsieur, have you a wife?" giggled one frilly blossom.

"Am I mar - no, I'm - er - married to the job."

"Oh dear," said Trevelyan. "I know we need him for the chevaliers, but..."

"He's barely treading water," Leliana said gleefully.

They suddenly heard Cullen give a bark of surprise. "Did you just... grab my bottom?"

"Time to go to his rescue," the Inquisitor said, setting her wine glass on the table. With Leliana's laughter at her back, she swiftly approached the cherry-red commander through the knot of giggling ladies. "My lovely ladies, if you could excuse us for just a moment," she said to the women, and they fortunately turned and moved a few feet away. "Well, Commander, time to report. Anything I should know about?"

He seemed relieved to be thrown into work again. "Nothing as yet, although it would be easier to search if people didn't keep coming up to talk to me." He looked quickly at her. "Not you, of course, you're perfectly entitled to bother me - er, not that you are."

She cocked her head. "Not enjoying the party?"

He rubbed at his forehead. "At this point, the headache I'm developing is preferable to the company." 

She grinned. "Anxious to get back to the wife, are we?"

He blinked. "Wife?"

"Married to the job?" she said with a raised eyebrow. "I trust that means you are hereby rendered unsusceptible to any woman's charms." 

He began to blush again. "That's not - I didn't mean-"

She gave a long-suffering sigh. "Come on, Commander. Let's see if you trip over your feet as much as you trip over your tongue."

He was blushing furiously, face so red he looked positively intoxicated. "Officers are taught a few formal steps," he said as she escorted him away from the tittering ladies and towards the dance floor.

"Aside from the usual about faces and forward marches?" She looked at him with a gleam in her eye. "Let's see you outdo a noblewoman born and bred."

His blush was fading. She had issued a challenge and he'd gladly take up the gauntlet. The commander took her by the hand and became the leader as they walked onto the floor amid swirling skirts and sashes. He bowed in a very Ferelden fashion, eye-catching in this kerfuffle of Orlesian etiquette. Trevelyan gave a bow in return, also an intriguing action. Then Cullen took her hand again, more gently than she had expected from a warrior, and he placed his other on her waist while she put hers on his shoulder.

The promising introduction clued her in to the tome of knowledge he contained on this concept. Though not as practiced as his swordstrokes, he was confident in his movements and swept her skillfully across the dance floor. The step was not strictly Orlesian, and she hadn't expected it to be. In fact, all the better, for she was a Ferelden lady who had received little training in the foreign arts. 

"I must apologize on two accounts, Commander," she said to him as they parted in all but touching hands.

"I doubt that is either necessary or proper," he replied, drawing her back in.

"Well, my insult about your dancing shouldn't be left unmentioned," she said with a small smile. "But what I'm really sorry for is that I believe this has been counterproductive."

"In what way?"

"Your - ah - _following_ may be a bit more infatuated now for having seen your dancing."

For the first time since they had begun the dance, he looked away from her and back to the spot where many women had gathered to watch and giggle. "I did tell them I'm not interested."

"This is Orlais, Commander. Until you can produce a wife that both exists and is more powerful than they're willing to put up with, they'll continue to erode your will."

He looked back at her. "I am married to the job."

His double entendre hit her with some surprise and she actually missed a step, stumbling slightly. He had to stop in order to not let her fall completely. "Commander Cullen-"

"I apologize. Clumsy me, my feet are more accustomed to stomping around in boots rather than prancing in them." He took a step back, and the look in his eyes told of a bit more mischief than what she had come to expect, though his blush said he knew he’d spoken out of turn. "Perhaps we ought to end here."

"Perhaps we ought," she replied. He bowed and she gave only a nod, a difference in rank that hadn't been present when they began. 

"I apologize again for my clumsiness," he said quietly.

She looked at him, wondering if perhaps there was some way she had misinterpreted his words. Back in Ferelden, as Lady Trevelyan, she would have gladly acted the part of Cullen's lover in an effort to waylay the admirers. Her sister would have thought it hilarious, at the very least. Here, that was a dangerous and inappropriate game for the Inquisitor to play. She could not afford to spread rumors that weren't true and didn't assist her cause, and Cullen would know that better than anyone. Perhaps she had misinterpreted.

"I'll return later if I've found anything," she told him as they left the dance floor.

"Be careful," he said.

"Easier said than done, Commander."

. . .

Trevelyan was beginning to learn that resolutions didn’t always mean happy endings. Celene was saved, sure, and that nightmarish future probably wouldn’t happen, but Halamshiral had proven to be a teeming mass of evil and ego that suffocating all sense of self-worth. 

At least she’d gotten to stab a couple of people.

Letting herself collapse to the ground of the now bloody gardens, Trevelyan laid on her back and frightened Dorian a little. Cassandra wisely kept him back and knelt to the ground herself. The Inquisitor looked up at her. “Can we go _home_ now?” she said in what was quite honestly a whine.

“If I had my way, we could. But the Empress will want to give a speech and, oh, there will just be this whole thing,” said the Seeker, waving a hand.

Trevelyan narrowed her eyes. “I can’t tell if you’re joking or you’ve just been here too long.”

“A bit of both, my lady,” she said, helping her to her feet. 

“C’mon, Rosie, it’s a party,” Varric said, brushing off her uniform as though the clinging _leaves_ were the problem. “Now they’re gonna party for you.”

She looked down at him. “Rosie?”

He grinned. “Your banner’s red. Inquisition uniforms are red. Your Great Hall is currently being draped in yards upon yards of red silk, and everything you wear is-”

“Red, yes, got it.”

“Probably dyed so by the blood of all your enemies,” Dorian said dryly. “A popular method of coloring in Tevinter, actually.”

“And that’s where the rose’s thorns come in,” Varric said. “I’m actually proud of this one. Of all my nicknames, this is the masterpiece.”

She groaned and put her hands to her face. “Alright, let’s just… _try_ to get cleaned up and finish the evening.”

It seemed like no one but her people could understand the Inquisitor’s mood. It was an absolute victory, a heavy strike against the Venatori. Why on earth was she not parading unabashedly about the halls, showing off the bloodstains and retelling the story of the hour in gruesome detail? There were quite a few men who had a mind to dance with her, and quite a few ladies who had a mind to watch with bright eyes behind fluttering fans. 

But Lady Trevelyan, Mighty Inquisitor, was nowhere to be found. Not by most people, anyway, because most people were in the hall or on the dance floor, enjoying the resurgence of energy. But Trevelyan was on a little balcony used more for a bit a fresh air for young guests who’d drunk too much. There was no one out there now, no one even considering going out while such excitement happened inside.

And for possibly the first time since this madness began, the cracking that had started turned to breaking. 

There was a lot riding on her shoulders, yes, and there had been from the start. But, by the Maker, she could be a hero, she could save people, and that sounded thrilling. It was thrilling. People in the Hinterlands practically groveled in thanks because they were just so desperately happy to be saved, and half the people who had joined her were equally as grateful. She loved her companions deeply, these people who stood firmly at her side and took whatever came. She loved them for their faults, their fears, and for the happiness they somehow managed to bring her. She had thought that evil better be running scared, because no one could hold up against her people.

But tonight… tonight, she fully realized that there was evil loose in the world that she had no power to stop. Here in this very castle, elves were being crushed under the glittering shoes of Orlesian tradition and she could do _nothing_ because _politics_. People in Tevinter were regressing back into the dark ages because of desires so old no one could even find the roots to eradicate them. All of these evils remained simply because they were too old for anyone to care to stop. 

_Evil is ancient_. True evil, the essence of madness and inexplicable rapacity, won out because it took the fight in the long term. Good might win battles, but evil could win hearts with efficiency. And how old was Corypheus again? How long had he been planning this war?

Maker, she was so insignificant.

She gripped the balcony’s railing, shoulders curling as though she had half a mind to tip over the edge. How long had she been at this bloody party, anyway? It felt like absolute days.

“Might I interrupt, or would you like me to leave?”

She gasped slightly and released the railing, turning to see her Commander with lines of concern etched into his face. She hadn’t heard the balcony doors open. Her lip began to tremble embarrassingly as she tried to formulate a dignified answer, and she ended up shaking her head in defeat. The Inquisitor did _not_ cry in front of her commander. “I just want to go home, to my drafty room and the courtyard where people just hit things until they’re not angry anymore.”

“Are you in need of hitting something?” he asked, taking another step towards her. 

She sighed. “Absolutely not. I’ve done enough damage tonight.”

He offered her a hand, which she accepted, and pulled her closer to the doors. “Then let’s go home,” he said simply.

She raised her eyebrows, looking for the joke and not finding it. “You’re not serious.”

“You’ve just gained Celene as a loyal ally. Just schedule a luncheon with her and then leave. You don’t owe her any more time right now.” He retracted his hand, as though holding it for too long would start to burn. He straightened his shoulders, every inch disciplined and steady as a Templar should be. “Shall I escort you, Inquisitor Trevelyan?”

For the first time all evening, a genuine smile came over her face and she placed her fingers lightly on his arm. “I’d be only too glad, Commander,” she said.

He smiled back at her, unbridled humor that he didn’t try to hide, and they strolled back into the ballroom.


	4. The Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor is taught that the world's weight does not rest squarely on her shoulders alone.

A great burning was engulfing her entire arm and there was nothing she could do to make it stop. Acid green light flashed, blinding her, pushing her back as though it had a mass of its own. She could hear screaming far below of people she could never save. And that nonstop, ever-present, exhausting _burning_.

An anchor had never been so heavy.

Through the sounds of metal clashing against metal came an even louder pounding on wood. Trevelyan launched upright amidst her sweaty sheets, chest heaving and hand sparking. The pounding persisted, and her foggy mind determined that it was, in fact, the door. After fighting yet another battle, this time against her blankets, she tripped out of bed and seized the handle. "What?" she snapped before realizing who she was addressing. 

Speaking of dressing.... "Cullen," she said, wrapping her arms around her middle as though this would hide her immodesty. She could buy a bed, but hadn't found the time to requisition proper nightclothes.

The military commander was staring at her, though not in embarrassment. "I heard you yelling. I'd thought the Breach might have opened up in your very room."

Her brow furrowed. "You heard me all the way from your tower?"

Ah, _there_ was the awkward, embarrassed Cullen she knew. "No... I was passing through-"

"Passing through my quarters? In the dead of night?"

"Solas said something about you speaking of nightmares," he said firmly. "I thought I might check in on you. It seems that was a good idea."

She frowned at him, gaze hardening. "I'm alright," she told him stiffly, walking away from the door. 

"I'm just trying to help."

"By pounding on the door?"

"I _knocked_ -"

"You pounded."

"Well, I _am_ a soldier, I tend to have a heavier hand than most," he shot back. His eyes glanced downward for a split second. "Speaking of heavy hands...."

"I'm _alright_ ," she reiterated tersely, pulling her glowing palm to her chest.

Cullen was not a soul to be lied to. "I think we can agree that's not true."

"I have to be alright, don't I?" she snapped, reaching for her robe. "I have to be the fearless leader everyone keeps going on about - ow!" She winced as she barked her elbow rather hard against the headboard of her bed, stepping back only to stumble slightly on the sheets which pooled on the floor. 

"Fearless, yes. Doing battle even against the furniture," he said mildly.

"Shut up!" she told him, jerking the robe all the way on. She pushed her frightful hair out of her face, still feeling clammy from the night terrors and just wishing he hadn't seen her like this. Some fearless leader she was proving to be. "Nobody asked you to be here," she said wearily.

He opened his mouth, but was reluctant to speak. The look on his face told her she could be wrong. "No one _did_ ask you, correct?" she said with a raised eyebrow. More floundering. Andraste's blade, did everyone know? "Cassandra wouldn't ask you. Was it Josephine? Or perhaps Vivienne? She's always poking herself into my affairs."

"It was... you, actually."

She felt herself turning red, instantly rifling through her own memories to see where she might have slipped up. "What?"

He shook his head, too far in now to turn back. "When I... passed by, I heard you yell my name. I had already changed my mind and was going to leave you be, but then I heard that, and I - I just immediately assumed you were in trouble. That's why I _pounded_ on the door."

Oh. Maker's. Dick. 

Whoever thought some flippant noble of Ferelden could hold her own against Fade demons and awkwardly charming knights deserved to be thrown into the Breach headfirst. 

Trevelyan sat on her bed, face in her hands as she wondered just how she'd ever look at this man in the war room ever again. But then he sat next to her, without touching, and said quietly, "Mine wasn't the only name you called, and... you're not the only one with nightmares."

She looked up at him, slightly hopeful. "What else did I say?"

He obviously didn't want to admit this one, either. "Minaeve," he said shortly.

What an awful blow. She remembered Minaeve as she'd burned in Haven. Such an ironic place to die so horribly. 

"Don't misunderstand, you didn't need rescuing, you needed help. It was the same way you called on me to help when we were attacked in Haven, and again at the Empress' masquerade." He shifted slightly, though she couldn't tell if he was trying to get closer or further away. "And... like I said, you're not the only one with nightmares. I heard that call too many times to count while you were missing. I remembered what I said to you before you ran off to buy us time. 'Perhaps you'll find a way.' Maker, what a naive, idiotic thing to say. I could see you already knew you were going to die and I was only bolstering my own hopes."

"But I didn't," she said. "I went into the situation and thought of all the ways that I could come out alive."

"We didn't know that," he said simply, and that conveyed his point.

She really, _really_ wasn't the only one to have nightmares.

"I'm sorry for worrying you," she told him, speaking of both her supposed death and the events of tonight. "I won't hold it against you if you'd like to go back."

"I could always stay," he said, getting to his feet and stretching slightly. The movement seemed to be designed to keep himself from getting any closer. "On the off chance that a Rift does open up on your ceiling."

She raised an eyebrow, more amused than annoyed. "You won't be getting the bed."

"Oh, of course not, with what you spent on it. It would seem the one we gave you wasn't quite up to par."

She looked at him. "The other one had a family of mice living in the mattress!"

"I've heard you talking to Iron Bull about how much you'd like a pet."

"We were discussing _mabari_ , Cullen." She crossed her arms. "You must think I'm some sort of noble prat, buying myself a new bed."

"I never said that," he replied.

"Meanwhile, _you_ prefer to sleep under the stars amid piles of rotting wood."

The corner of his mouth quirked up. He remembered that conversation after she'd climbed up, uninvited, to see his room.

_"Maker's breath, it's a bit drafty in here."_

_"I'm not bothered, so long as everyone else is comfortable."_

_"You're lacking a_ ceiling _, Commander."_

He shook his head at her, thinking her own room was too large for a sole, traumatized occupant. "How about this: I'll sleep up there in that loft, and you can have the bed. If you need me, I'll be right here. Won't even need to pound on anything."

Despite her resistance to needing such support, Trevelyan felt a warmth and a sense of ease fill her at the thought. She wouldn't be alone in here, and her companion would be a very capable member of her team. "Tolerable," she told him. 

She found him a blanket and pillow, then sent him on his way up the ladder. For the next several minutes, she could hear him moving about and getting comfortable above her, and then there was silence. 

The harsh winds of the Frostbacks pushed the window panes, making them rattle slightly. Every noise could mean another bandit or another Rift. The undead hadn't helped matters, either. At least the anchor had gone dormant for the night and she wouldn't have to put up with its constant glowing. Ignoring the various noises, she attempted sleep.

It took her a long time of pretending she wasn't wide awake to realize that there was a sound missing. Every soldier who had ever marched with him, every healer who'd mended his injuries, could tell the world that Commander Cullen snored worse than any wild bronto. The loft, however, was silent as the grave. 

_Not the only one with nightmares_ , she thought to herself, sliding out of bed and going to her desk. She lit several candles, dispelling a good deal of the darkness, and sifted through the papers that had piled up there. A previously-opened thank you letter from the Empress, a request to repair one of the watchtowers in the Hinterlands, and a man from Redcliffe reporting that his goat had said lovely things about her. There were plenty more, but those were the least dull.

"Actively waiting for the dawn to come?" asked Cullen, flat on his belly as he looked over the edge of the loft. 

She glanced up. "Who can sleep when there's paperwork to be done?"

He watched her for a moment. "Is there anything I need to sign?"

She tried to hide her grin as she flipped through the pages. "I might have a thing or two."

He was on his feet in a moment and sliding down the ladder the next. He crossed to her desk and took the papers she handed him, then cocked his head at something else. "Is that... Hawke's crest?"

She looked down, finding yet another letter. She quickly scanned it, then shook her head. "It's nothing important, only an apology. She heard about the fight with Cassandra and Varric. She's a good woman, but a lot has been assumed of her."

"Hm," Cullen said neutrally, looking at the paper. "Although, that was the first time I saw Varric show any sort of guilt. And I knew him long before this Inquisition project."

Trevelyan sat back in her chair, remembering the fight which had quickly escalated beyond angry words and selfish lies. "I've never seen her more distraught."

"Cassandra?" Cullen asked.

She nodded. "Everything fell apart for her for a moment. When she realized Varric had lied... that things could have been different.... I couldn't fathom her guilt. And after all this time, she's more than an adviser to me, and I think I've become more than just a charge. And she suddenly saw that I didn't _have_ to be the chosen one, it could have been someone better equipped, and she just felt so sorry." She shook her head. "And Varric was preventing Hawke from going through what I've had to bear. 'She's been in enough shit,' he said. And I can't blame him."

Cullen leaned against the desk, his brief good mood gone. "No one was supposed to bear that anchor. But believe me when I say you wouldn't have survived nearly this long if you couldn't do it."

"Sometimes even I wonder how I've done it," she said dryly.

"Don't sell yourself short. You have more strength in your little finger than I have in all of me."

She looked up at him. "Which little finger?"

He gave her a look. "The one that's all Trevelyan."

She accepted this answer, then took out a quill and ink for Cullen to use. After a moment of rearranging her papers, she spoke again. "Varric once told me there's no such thing as a happy hero."

"Bright ray of sunshine, isn't he?"

"Well, I haven't found a way to disprove him yet."

Cullen looked up. "You don't have to _always_ be happy. If you are still _able_ to be happy, then chalk one up for you."

"Are you ever happy?" she asked.

He looked at her for what seemed like a long time. "I do have moments."

She was starting to feel warm in her chest again. "Even when you have to put up with nutty, frankly rude Inquisitors who suffer from humiliating night terrors?"

"Sometimes especially then."

They were quiet for a moment, both blushing slightly, and both sort of felt that the only logical step to take from there was to move forward for a kiss. And because both thought this, the kiss ended up appearing sooner than they had expected, and so it was as though neither had planned it at all. 

And Trevelyan melted, her hand on the commander's jaw while he held her shoulders. 

If he had to avoid his lyrium addiction, she could give him something else to want.


	5. The Nap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Inquisition takes a break and Cole has a ball.

Cole loved naptime.

His idea of naptime had low standards. Only one member of the Inquisition had to be sleeping for him to consider it the time of napping, and then he would join them. He didn’t _need_ to sleep, but he did because it was a nice thing to do. And, at the same time, while someone was napping was one of the best times to help them. Sleeping in the middle of the day proved a more gentle rest than the long stints at night, and he could easily plant the loveliest dreams in their minds. They would wake up more refreshed than they had ever intended to be, and Cole was happy to see his friends happy.

Today, however, seemed to bring an entire nap party. Nearly everyone in the inner circle was asleep, scattered across Skyhold as though the further apart they were, the less noticeable their break was. It was a day between deadlines, when nothing particularly important was pressing on them, and most had simply passed out where they were, too exhausted to find a bed. Cole was overjoyed.

He stumbled across Varric first. The dwarf had been sitting in front of his favorite fireplace in the hall, behind the table. No one could see him unless they looked, and he was leaning back against one of the wooden chairs, snoring lightly. Cole found a pillow and placed it carefully behind his back, hoping it would be more comfortable than the wood, and offered visions of Bianca - the real Bianca, not the crossbow - before he left. 

Solas had apparently known a nap was coming, but had been loath to leave his frescos in favor of his room. He’d dragged a blanket and pillow into the rotunda and now slept on the floor. Cole left sweet milk on the table for when he awoke, but had no need to grant sweet dreams. Solas would be in control wherever he was.

Dorian was just upstairs in the library, tucked into his corner with a book mostly falling out of his hand. Cole marked the place and set the book aside, then wrapped a blanket around the snoozing mage. The dreams he gave were of a renewed Tevinter.

He could not, for the life of him, find Leliana anywhere, so in the spirit of the thing, he left flowers on her table.

Vivienne had known she would take a nap, had planned for it, and was currently lounging across her bed. Her blanket had slipped, so Cole tucked her in a bit more and created dreams of that man she loved, but whose name she never said.

Sera was draped across her seat in the tavern, uncomfortably positioned against some of the possibly-stolen articles in her room. Cole shifted her, gently, and found a pillow. He wasn’t certain what dreams she would like, so he made up something like an island made of nothing but gold. Her slight smile said she liked it, and he was pleased.  
The Iron bull was slumped in his chair, Krem snoozing not far away. Soon, they were lost in dreams of happily crushing bandits while Cole picked their tankards off the floor. 

Blackwall was fitfully dreaming in a chair near his forge, to be quickly soothed by Cole removing any and all dreams. The would-be Warden needed only peace of mind and a gentle touch.

Josephine had made it as far as her armchair before the nap took hold. Cole managed to locate one of the dolls she’d brought from home and tucked it in along with her. Such a picture made him imagine Josephine as a little girl, free of the responsibilities that pressed on her now, and the thought made him smile. 

Cullen was asleep at his desk with his face in his arms. Presumably he had meant to only shut his eyes for a moment, to be jerked awake once more when another messenger came, but messengers did not come. One or two had opened the door to see him sleeping and had quietly crept back out. Such reports could wait an hour. Cole made certain the doors were all shut to keep out the noise, then left a pot of hot tea on a table near the desk. Just before slipping away, he blew dreams of the vibrant and courageous Inquisitor into his mind, and banished thoughts of lyrium.

Trevelyan he found in her room. She had managed to get both shoes off before falling spread-eagled on the bed and promptly passing out. Her hair had mostly escaped its ponytail, and her position screamed of utter exhaustion. This was why Cole liked naps so much. For just a little while, people could take a break and live only in a world of lovely things. He could feel a nightmare approaching, could see the beginnings of something fearful, and he quickly interjected with thoughts of Cullen or of her home and family. 

When he tried to place a blanket over her, however, she stirred. “Cole?” she murmured, blinking up at him. 

“Oh… I’ve done it wrong, I’m sorry. You were supposed to sleep, let me-”

“Don’t,” she said, holding up a hand. She readjusted her position, now lying with her head and shoulders actually on the pillows, and she patted the space next to her. “Take a break, Cole. Enough helping for one day.”

He cocked his head. “Are you sure that’s alright?”

She was already dozing off again, turning her face into the softness of the pillow. “Just for ten minutes. Close your eyes and stop worrying.”

He watched her for a moment, considering the idea, then he made himself reappear at her side. The bed was soft, cool where he lay, and the blankets felt nice against his bare feet. He shut his eyes, trying to mimic the state of his friends, and he let himself relax. 

Instead of going dormant, however, he spread himself, felt the lives of every person in Skyhold, and he felt a sense of utter belonging. 

Cole very much loved naps.


	6. The Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen's battle against addiction begins to spiral beyond his control.

"Get your guard up!" Cullen barked. "Basic maneuvers will save your life, Lieutenant!"

The man took a step back, dripping with sweat due to the fact that the commander had forced him into full armor. Of course, Cullen had done the same, but solidarity could only go so far. 

"Let's have another go, then, shall we?" panted the lieutenant, unsuccessfully masking his annoyance. 

Cullen did like practice with the officers more than the recruits. Those he had granted higher ranks weren't keen on letting them get stripped away for petty insubordination.

They went again, swords clashing above their heads. Cullen was breathing like a winded bronto, worse than his opponent and possibly twice as drenched in sweat. His blade felt like it was made of solid rock rather than metal, his shoulder burning with the effort. He tried not to let his weakness show, but when his sword was wrenched from his grasp, he thought it might be time to stop.

"Enough," he forced out through gasping pants. "Enough, we'll continue tomorrow." 

Maker, did his chest ache. 

The lieutenant seemed to pick up on the fact that his leader was not entirely alright. He made a move to help, but Cullen waved him off. He dragged himself to the armory, where he replaced the metal and leather pieces used to protect his body - only from outside attack, unfortunately. For a moment, he had to stop and lean against a rack of pikes, hands shaking like those of a nervous widow. 

_Just take it. End this, you won't have to suffer anymore. You know where the supplies are, just-_

He gripped the wood of the rack, his breath catching. _Can't. You've promised too many people. Tell the lieutenant to move the stashes and don't ask him where. If you don't know, you can't...._

_But it_ burns.

Was this a sign that he was falling apart? He didn't actually want to resign his post, not after all the work he'd put into it. He sent a silent prayer up to Andraste to give him strength.

Turning to the door, however, he realized he wasn't alone. "How long have you been there?" he asked the Seeker.

"Long enough," said Cassandra, leaning against the doorway with her standard no-nonsense expression. "Is it getting worse?"

"Not worse, not if I'm careful," he said.

She wasn't convinced. "But you're not being careful."

He sighed. "I'm going to my quarters now. I have several letters and reports that need replies, anyway."

"I think the healers would agree with me when I recommend that you sleep instead," she said curtly. "The harder you push yourself, the longer it will take for you to build your strength again."

"And I'm going to rest now," he told her, heading through the doorway. "Thank you for your concern."

She took him by the arm, looking into his face. "It's worse today, Cullen. If you don't do what you have to do, then I'll do what I have to do."

He nodded. "Understood. Thank you, Seeker."

"Maker be with you, Cullen."

He struck off for his quarters, stairs more of a torture than they should have been, aches all around. One might think he had the flu, but no. This was not over in the span of a day. 

And, like the flu, by the time he reached his room, he'd broken out into a sweat and was shaking. He really needed to be more careful not to work too hard. He'd told Trevelyan he could do this, that she could trust him. He needed to be smarter and stronger. Perhaps sleep was a better option than paperwork.

_Or lyrium. Lyrium is a better option than either._

His feet carried him to the desk, where sat the kit he had no good reason for keeping. It was almost bizarre, watching his hand reach for the box even as he told it not to. He gave a massive exhale, withdrawing his hand and turning from the desk.

Every day got harder. 

He rubbed a hand over his face as the burning in his throat and veins became stronger. He felt so weak, so empty without it. How had he ever functioned before? Maybe he could just take a little, just a bit, and then….

And then the count since his last usage would reset. And this was the highest that count had ever been, so why topple the number? _Go to bed. Go to bed, just go to bed, Cullen, go to bed._

Maker's blood, why had he thought a _ladder_ to the bed was a good idea? Ignoring his desk and chair, he clutched at the rungs and hauled himself upward, pleased that at least he could still do so. Dropping boots and coat all the way, he shuffled to his bed and collapsed on the mattress. 

The Inquisitor teased him for his lack of a roof, but she had never gone through withdrawal like this. Frostback wind was like Andraste's blessed breath on his hot skin, and he lay shaking under only a thin blanket. And after rigorous training, the draft was especially appreciated. 

He dozed, in a way, for an undetermined amount of time. He had half-dreams of Fade demons and Haven collapsing around the only hero they had, once again hearing the cry of _Cullen!_ If she hadn't commanded him to save the people, if someone else had been able to do so, he would have gone with her. He still thought he should have. No one ought to face such creatures alone. He knew what that was like well enough, still thought he was there sometimes, back in the Circle and breaking apart.

Perhaps due to the cold, his hazy dreams turned to those frigid camps between Haven and Skyhold, when he began to realize that so much more discipline was required of him. _Cullen!_ she cried in his dreams, the Herald who had fallen to the Elder One. _Cullen, give me a plan, anything! Cullen!_

"Cullen!"

His eyes fluttered open. Trevelyan was seated on his bed, and this was not a dream. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"You," she said pointedly, and he began to register the concern in her eyes beneath the anger. Then he noticed the extra blankets that had been piled on, and, further away, a slight form crouched near a fire.

"Solas...?" he said in confusion.

The figure stood, proving him right. "Excuse our intrusion, Commander."

"Are you burning my room?"

"You had plenty of spare wood in here, so I made a fire. It's contained, so no, I'm not burning your room."

"It's _freezing_ ," Trevelyan said sharply. "Andraste's ass, Cullen, what the hell is wrong with you? I got up here and thought you might be dead."

His brow furrowed. "That bad?"

Solas approached the bedside and conjured a reflective oval, revealing to Cullen that he did, indeed, look to be at death's door. His complexion was nearly white aside from the dark areas around his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said, rubbing his hands over his face.

"Sorry," she snorted, putting her face in her hands. "Maker's breath.... Solas, is there anything else you can do?"

"Not at the moment, Inquisitor."

"Then you can go. I'm sure you have other things to attend."

He bowed slightly. "Call if you have need," were his parting words as he left for the ladder. 

Then Cullen was alone with the Inquisitor, and, as opposed to normal circumstances, he was beginning to see that this was not a place he wanted to be. 

"You told me you could handle this," she said quietly. "I asked if you were alright and you said the pain was manageable."

"I was managing," he protested weakly.

"Cassandra came to me!" she snapped. "She hasn't said a single word about this lyrium business being too much, but she came to me today and said I had better go check on you. Why isn't she enough? Why did I have to get involved?"

He shifted uncomfortably, muscles sore and his chest hurting. "I didn't mean for you to get involved at all."

"You have a fever, Cullen." 

He frowned. "I _am_ ill?"

She looked at him with exasperation. "Letting yourself get drenched in sweat and then freezing in your bedroom is hardly the way to remain healthy. And Solas says the lack of lyrium already makes your body think it's sick."

"I knew about the last bit, but I hadn't realized I was feverish."

She sighed again. "Well, now you've really done it. As High Inquisitor, I've already commanded that your rooms be moved until we can get the ceiling repaired in this one."

His eyes widened slightly. "No, that's not necessary. Direct the supplies where they're needed."

"They're needed here!" she snapped. "For Maker's sake, Cullen, you're going to give me an aneurysm! Just shut up and get out of bed, we're moving you to my quarters temporarily. Everyone knows I hardly use them, anyway."

He grabbed her hand as she took hold of his shoulder. "Don't - don't let anyone see me."

She paused, her gaze softening. "We've cleared the halls we'll be using so no one will know. I think Cassandra claimed there was some heavy reconstruction going on. Although part of me thinks we ought to parade you in front of the courtyard so everyone will know not to be so stupid!" She sighed again, her cool hand a kiss from Andraste on his forehead. "You're on fire right now, let's get you up. Come on."

With some heaving and a lot of effort on Cullen's part, Trevelyan helped him rise from the bed. She made sure a blanket or two was securely wrapped about his shoulders, then carefully helped him over to the ladder. Strangely, it had been placed (probably by Solas) at a slant so as to aid in descending. Again, at least he could manage the ladder. 

With every step, Trevelyan became less angry and more maternal, rubbing his back with her fingernails to ease the aching in his body. His normally stern posture melted under her touch, and his feverish mind vaguely thought of her as more than simply Andraste's Herald; she was the Maker's bride herself, come to heal him with her boundless love and spirit. Then he realized his mind had wandered too far, and he remembered that she was only the human Inquisitor.

Still, sometimes it was difficult to remember she was only human.

The halls were, in fact, vacant, save for only those allowed to know. Cassandra met them at some sort of checkpoint, shaking her head at the commander. Leliana was not far away, her head poking through a door as she berated someone for trying to come through. They had to pause there lest whoever was on the other side catch a glimpse of Cullen. When she finally closed the door, she sighed. "Maker be with you, Commander," she told him. "Mother Giselle and I will pray for you in the garden."

"I'm humbled, Sister," he said with a smile. "And truly grateful."

"Oh, come on, you sappy clod," Trevelyan huffed, shifting her grip on him. 

They continued on, and at the door to the Inquisitor's room, there was yet another person, although this one did not seem planned. 

"Cole," Trevelyan said in surprise. "I - what are you doing here?"

"I'm here to help," said the young man plainly.

"N-no, I don't think that's necessary."

"Are you afraid of him?" Cullen asked. He thought this strange, as before she had been the greatest advocate for the boy and often liked to speak with him, especially when all anyone wanted to talk about was have-to's and should-not's. He'd thought she found some peace with the spirit.

She glanced at him, then she looked apologetically at Cole. "I'm not afraid. It's just... every time I've seen him help, it's to aid in someone's passing."

Cullen stiffened slightly at that and thought, yes, that is a very good reason to turn down someone's help.

"He's not dying," Cole said without reproach. "He's in pain. I thought I might help him."

She looked over. "Are you really hurting that much?"

"It's not the pain, honestly, I just feel weak-"

"He can barely stand anymore," said Cole, causing the commander to sigh. "The desire in him has upset his own balance. _Aching, burning. Must have lyrium. I can be stronger, I can do this. Just one taste… Maker, just one_."

Trevelyan gave Cullen a stern look, then ushered him into the room. Cole followed behind. 

"There," she said, carefully laying the knight on the large bed. "Now stay put, understand?"

"Yes, Inquisitor," he grunted, settling into the pillows. "Excellent choice on the bed, by the way. Very comfortable." He wasn't actually saying this in all honesty, as he was far too achy to enjoy much of anything, but he could tell Cole's words had worried her.

Trevelyan sat on the bed next to him, mouth cast in a slight frown as she massaged his shoulder. "You scared a lot of people, Cullen. I hope you've learned your lesson."

"Consider me educated, Inquisitor."

Maker, was he tired. Too sore to sleep, too exhausted to stay awake. He just couldn't win. 

Then, a feather-light kiss on his cheek drove away the ache, the weariness, and that damn burning for lyrium, if only for a moment. 

Trevelyan stood. "Cole, help him sleep. I'm going to find Solas."

The boy approached the bed as she left the room, looking down at the commander. "I'll let you dream of her," he said.

For once, Cullen was fully prepared to accept an offer of help. "Please do, Cole," he said, already feeling himself drifting off.


	7. The Rift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when a common Rift becomes one Rift too many.

How many times had she gone to the Hinterlands, and it didn't seem to be any better? 

That was probably incorrect. Likely the situation had improved greatly, especially since the demolishing of major bandit hideouts and the majority of the Rifts. Of course, there still remained the odd patch here and there infested with evil, and the odd bear here and there that was far too bold to be a normal bear. She'd heard the beasts were supposed to run _away_ from loud noises, not pounce on them.

But here she was, yet again, per request. It was a large area requiring a large amount of attention, and she shouldn't have been surprised. This was her duty, the one she herself had agreed to by her own volition. There was no reason to be bitter. 

"Inquisitor!" called a blur of red and white as a woman ran up to her. 

"Sister," Trevelyan said, inclining her head. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"Another Rift, near the falls," said the woman breathlessly. "Refugee families are coming to Redcliffe with reports, but some failed to make it. You're the only one who can close them."

"I'll go there right away," said the Inquisitor. "You can tell those families their homes will be safe once I return."

"Maker bless you, Inquisitor."

_He already has_ , she thought, neglecting to make the words public because she knew her dry humor would be lost on the sister. 

"Time to collect the others, then?" Solas asked as she turned away.

"Indeed, my friend. I'll allow you to find Cassandra, as I know exactly where Varric will be."

He cocked his head. "You don't need to spare me the company of Varric's brand of companions."

"No. But I felt like being nice today."

He gave a hint of a smile, which was far more than usual. "I'll find the Seeker."

Trevelyan and the elf separated, the former angling towards Redcliffe's one and only tavern. The day was a pleasant one, but within the tavern was far warmer and felt significantly more enclosed. Smoke from the fire and the smell of ale converged on one's senses to create a lethargic feeling, a way to keep customers in their seats and ordering drinks. 

Varric was at a low table in the back, speaking with two men and presumably doing business with them. "I apologize for the interruption," Trevelyan said as she approached the table. "Master Tethras is in high demand."

Varric raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised at her terminology. The two men with him seemed to regard the dwarf with new interest. "Can it wait?" he asked, milking her generosity for all it was worth. 

"I'm sorry, but no. Your essential presence specifically is required, else the task cannot be completed." If she laid it on thick now, she couldn't really be held accountable for the men not believing her.

But they were simple men, and they accepted her heavy-handed praise without suspicion. "Off you go then, Master Tethras," said one, raising his tankard. "We'll speak another time."

"Gentlemen," said the dwarf, giving each a nod as he rose from his seat. He followed Trevelyan to the door, then shook his head. "You're a piece of work, Rosie."

"I've heard worse."

"Oh, I mean that in the best way possible," he said with a laugh. "So, where are we off to?"

"Rift near the falls. Seems we missed one in our last foray," she told him. "I believe Cassandra and Solas will meet us near the gates."

Varric frowned. "That’ll be the third one since we got here. Being a hero is a great aspiration and all, but... do you ever wonder if you have a quota?"

She raised an eyebrow. "How do you mean?"

"Even mages have to recharge. How many times do you think you can use that thing in a week before you have to stop?" He looked at her hand, at the faint green glow that never truly left. "I've seen people get special powers through special circumstances. It's generally not a boon of neverending perks."

She flexed her fingers, looking at the mark. "Well, we'll never know until we try. If there's a quota, then we'll work with that. If not...."

"We find out where the weakness really is." He looked up at her. "I like you, Rosie. A good soldier finds the chink in his armor before he takes advantage of the strength."

Wise words from an author of not so wise books. She took the thought into consideration, but couldn't dwell on it. If she did, it would only be that much harder to face whatever spilled forth from the Rift.

"Everyone ready?" she asked when she and Varric met the two others.

"Lead the way," said Cassandra.

They retrieved their horses, then mounted up and headed for the falls at a brisk canter. Even though Trevelyan had decided not to dwell on what Varric had said, she couldn't help but glance down at her hand every now and again, wondering some more at the mark's capabilities. Corypheus had informed her of some of it, and Solas had helped where he could, while the rest she'd figured out on her own. She could close Rifts and sometimes kill big things with it. She could piss off Darkspawn deities and unite forces. What could it not do? Or, perhaps worse, what price would it exact? The initial pain she'd experienced couldn't be the end of it.

They arrived at the falls in the evening. Just enough daylight left for a skirmish. 

"Is the Fade always green?" Trevelyan asked, looking at the swirling tear high above the ground.

"No, not always. It just appears so when it's on the wrong side of reality," said Solas. "Have you ever seen two mirrors facing one another? A green tint develops between them. Much the same thing is happening when these Rifts form."

"Food for thought," Trevelyan said, dismounting. "Weapons ready. Varric, Solas, back. Cassandra, you're with me."

"Always," said the warrior, detaching her shield from the saddle before drawing her sword. 

They decided to charge on the count of three. When the blessed number hit, the two blade masters ran screaming into the clearing beside the river's bank. Spirits and demons rose from where the Fade touched, breaking into a realm that should never have been theirs. The spirits weren't difficult, they never were, and Cassandra could easily overpower the rage demons in a battle of might, provided a rogue stepped in to cut the corners every now and again. It was a fight that had become nothing out of the ordinary.

When the last demon was dead, Trevelyan raised her hand to the sky, remembering her first meeting with Solas when he yanked her arm upward in a desperate attempt to end the madness. When her hand clenched to shut the tear once and for all, however, the pain of that day returned along with the memory. 

Burning energy lanced up her arm. The glow remained intense long after the Rift was closed. She fell to her knees, clutching her hand and gasping from the pain. _Maker, help me_ , she thought desperately. _Make it stop, please make it stop_.

After a long, long moment, the pain began to die away, leaving her shocked, shaken and still aching. She felt a hand on her shoulder and a presence kneeling at her side. "Perhaps we should find the nearest camp," Cassandra said calmly.

After a ragged breath, Trevelyan nodded. "I think that would be best."

"Finally found that quota, eh Rosie?" Varric said quietly as Cassandra helped her up.

"I'd rather not talk about this now," she said to him, and he wisely kept quiet. 

. . .

It was still dark when Trevelyan emerged from her tent. She'd become accustomed to an hour or less of sleep at a time while away from Skyhold. Even there, she didn't dare sleep too long for fear nightmares of the Fade would come to haunt her. Though the time frame was small, she felt much more refreshed. 

Cassandra sat by the fire, over which hung a large pot of stew. From the looks of it, everyone else in camp had already had their dinner, but some had been reserved for latecomers. 

"How are you feeling?" asked the Seeker, looking up at Trevelyan. 

"Much better now, thank you," she replied as she got her own bowl. "I'm sorry we had to stop."

"Think nothing of it," she said. "One body cannot hold an army, Inquisitor. A lesson I know several people would do well to remember."

Trevelyan cocked an eyebrow. "Pot, meet kettle."

Cassandra grinned. "Well, alright, I admit my own faults. You cannot become a leader without being strong willed. The trick is knowing when to hold back."

"A trick I think we're all still learning," said the Inquisitor as she sat down.

Cassandra looked away from the fire and at her companion, studying the woman for a moment. "If I could ask less of you, I would," she said quietly.  
"And if I could do more for you, I would," Trevelyan said, equally as quiet.

Cassandra sighed. "You make it hard for me to advise you sometimes."

"Am I that unruly?"

"You're perfectly capable, and that's the problem. In any given case, I have to decide to promote what's best for you, or what's best for all of us."

"Is there really a choice?" she asked.

Cassandra shook her head. "My discipline tells me no, but my friendship with you tells a different story." She looked over. "I hope I don't assume too much when I describe our relationship as such."

"Not at all," Trevelyan said easily. "I think you and I have come a long way from prisoner and keeper."

"I like to think so," said the Seeker with a slight smile. "I just felt the need to ask. A person like me doesn't collect many friends in her life."

"Perhaps it's due to that discipline you mentioned earlier."

"There is no 'perhaps', that is exactly the case," she said wearily. "A Seeker preparing for war has no time for friends and social occasions. Leliana, I think, is the only other example, and she was a colleague first." She looked over again. "I'm glad you've managed to see past the discipline."

"I like who you are, Cassandra," she said before taking in another spoonful of stew. "I think your discipline is a part of that, not something to be removed at will. Although I don't think anyone would mind terribly if you hung up the sword and breastplate every once and a while."

"Do you mean I should take a break?" she laughed. "I find the concept hilarious... and foreign."

"Even mages need to recharge," Trevelyan echoed. 

Cassandra smiled for a moment, but this unfortunately seemed to draw her back to the problem at hand. "Which reminds me," she glanced down, "I thought the mark didn't pain you anymore."

"It's not spreading," she hedged, shifting her position. "Sometimes it hurts. That Rift today, however, was... uncommon."

"Not the Rift itself, though."

"No, just the reaction afterward."

She frowned. "I have to wonder if perhaps it would be better for you to spend more time inside Skyhold than out."

Trevelyan put her bowl and spoon down. "Varric's theory is that I have a quota. A certain amount of Rifts I can close in a certain amount of time before it becomes too much."

"I should certainly say so, if the fighting alone isn't enough to wear you down," Cassandra said. 

"An idea like that makes me nervous," said the Inquisitor. "What if something important comes along, but I have no energy left to handle it? What do you do without your Herald?"

"We manage until you can return," Cassandra said firmly. "There is nothing else to do." She looked over at her leader, a fondness in her eyes breaking through the generally stern expression. "Don't underestimate your people, Inquisitor. One body cannot hold an army. Everyone else must live up to their own tasks, as well."

Trevelyan sighed, though she did feel a small portion of weight lift from her shoulders. Other people could be responsible for things, at least for a little while. "Thank you, Cassandra."

"And thank _you_ , Inquisitor."


	8. The Check-In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trevelyan spares one moment to receive an update when she returns from adventuring.

Trevelyan mounted the stone steps up to the battlements, nodding her greetings at the guards along her way. 

"Welcome back, Inquisitor."

"Good to see you, your worship."

"Thank you. Yes, good day." She gave them smiles even though her muscles screamed with every step and her eyes begged for blissful sleep.

One small errand first.

She opened the door without knocking and instantly knew repairs had been made, for it was far warmer in the office than it had ever been. 

"Inquisitor," Cullen said, straightening up from where he stood by his desk. "Good to see you've returned in one piece."

"Good to see you standing," she replied, looking around. She smiled slightly. "Do I smell a fire?"

He looked upward towards his bedroom. "Yes, there were apparently a few... special recommendations concerning my quarters." He glanced over at her, fully aware of who had made those recommendations. Then his brow drew together. "How about a seat, Inquisitor?"

"I won't say no," she said, crossing over to a chair on the other side of his desk.

"You're still in your armor. Haven't had a chance to unpack?"

"Not as of yet," she said, shifting slightly. "Like I said, it's good to see you standing."

He seemed pleased that she'd be so concerned with him, but the good humor was quickly replaced once more with worry. "Your coat, Inquisitor.... I'd like to assume that's someone else's blood."

She looked down at her side and made a noise of irritation. She already looked strained. "Damn. I should have known Dorian's healing magic would be lacking." 

Cullen gave a long-suffering sigh, tossing his papers on the desk as he came around to her. "I can do many things, your worship, but perform decent medical assistance is not one of them." He pulled back her coat, his fingers becoming slick with blood. This was not a new experience, especially not after Kirkwall. He might not have been trained in healing, but he was a master at keeping a straight face when confronted with injuries. 

Hers wasn't life-threatening - a simple gash, probably the product of a mercenary's lucky swordstroke. "I thought your specialty was avoiding blades. You just sneak in and do the job, isn't that it?"

"Cassandra does well keeping everything off of me," she said, grunting slightly. "But she's only one person."

"You have two other people with you."

"Yes, but I keep them _well_ back," she said with feeling. "Especially when I have Dorian. He's powerful, but he's a delicate flower."

Cullen snorted as he retrieved some bandages from his desk. He was no stranger to patching himself up in his own rooms, winding down after a long day. When he returned, Trevelyan had removed her jacket and pulled her shirt up to let him work. He tsked. "Lots of bruising here, too."

"Mercenaries have steel-toed boots."

"And heavy hilts," he added. He saw that the wound had already been cleaned fairly well, it was only that the bandages had been haphazard and not very tight. He removed the old ones and put new on. "You're going to be smarting for a few days."

"It's strange that I've come to accept that," she said dryly. "Did you know that most noblewomen try to stay _away_ from battle?"

"And dull creatures they must be," he replied sardonically. "Although, I suppose not everyone can be Andraste's Herald."

"Or the leader of an Inquisition." She grimaced as she tugged all her clothes back in place. "How are you, Cullen?"

"Better," he answered definitively. "It was a long week, but I made it through. Although it wasn't until after my fever was gone that I learned you'd left again."

She nodded. "We missed a Rift in the Hinterlands, and Blackwall wanted me to look into Warden camps, and there were Carta members by the falls, and…." She trailed off, shrugging. "I'm sorry I couldn't stay."

"Don't let the world unravel on my account," he said with a chuckle. "I just remembered you being there a few times, and then I woke up once and it was Cole. He and I are on very good terms now, if you’d care to know."

She nodded again, chin resting on her hand as she thought. "You really were out of sorts," she told him. "Completely delirious. You kept calling me Andraste."

He blushed, turning away so she wouldn't see. "Yes, well, I - I was praying, a lot, and I had a fever."

"I know. 'Andraste, grant me peace,' you said. Peace from an overbearing Inquisitor, most likely."

"Peace from my lyrium-addled brain, more accurately," he corrected. "I didn't mind your presence. You are, perhaps, the reason I'm alright now."

She looked at him, then stood carefully from the chair. "Cassandra is the reason you're alright, Commander. I think you ought to seek her out."

"Seek the Seeker, yes." He nodded anyway. "I'll do that."

"Until later, Commander." She gave him a small wave as she exited the room, and his eyes followed her until the door had closed.

"Until later," he murmured.


	9. The Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A risky plan and misinformation result in a trying few days for the Inquisition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple notes on this chapter. One, I actually went back and changed chapters 1 and 4 a little to make Hawke female. I just like having my Hawke better. Also, this chapter was supposed to be short and nothing special and then Anders came in and ruined everything as usual, so now it's a two-part thing (you'll get the next chapter tomorrow). This has a lot to do with DA:2, so if you haven't played it, sorry!

Oddly enough, the war room was actually a rather quiet place to be, filled with only the sounds of scratching quills and the occasional comment about a report. Every so often, one of the great doors would open to admit a messenger or an adviser, but right now all three were present. Josephine was sitting at her desk-away-from-desk against the east wall, Leliana was leaning over the table, studying the locations of troops and dangers, and Cullen stood a few feet away as he scanned the latest report from the Storm Coast. 

He’d read the same line maybe three times and still wasn’t quite certain what it said. With a small huff, he looked around the room, hoping to clear his mind. “Has the Inquisitor sent word yet?”

Leliana didn’t bother to look up. “No. She won’t until she’s ready to make a move.”

He frowned at her tone. “I was only wondering. We’ve heard tell of dead rising from the ground there like a Blight, and she’s following Hawke’s guidance. I knew her back in Kirkwall and I’m not sure how much I trust that arrangement.”

“Cassandra’s there,” Josephine said as Leliana rolled her eyes. “She would never let any harm come to the Inquisitor.”

He bit back another complaint and turned back to his report. He’d quite forgotten what it was about to begin with. 

In the midst of the quiet, the door opened to admit a messenger, looking as though he'd just arrived back to Skyhold from a long journey. It took a moment for Cullen to realize he was waiting to be noticed. "Do you have a report, soldier?" he asked, very slightly impatient.

"Yes, sir," he said with a bit of discomfort.

Now the commander was curious, and the two ladies looked up with interest. "Go on, then," he said.

The young man sighed, looking as though he was too nervous to speak. "Caer Bronach, sir," he said, licking his lips. 

"Is the Inquisitor ready to attack?" Cullen asked, wondering why he had to prod information from this man.

"Sir... she's already taken it."

The three advisers stared at him, and Leliana was the first to come back to herself. "What's the status, soldier? Are there any casualties?"

"Not really," he said with a shrug, just as stunned as they were. "The Inquisitor sustained a few injuries, though I'm told she'll make a full recovery, and Master Pavus sustained a leg injury that will have him laid up for at least a few more days, but otherwise the group is fine."

"Maker's breath," Cullen muttered, putting a hand to his forehead. He was feeling slightly dizzy with the sudden mixture of panic and relief. " _How_ , pray tell, did she manage this?"

"She said she found an entrance near the base of the keep. They broke the lock on the door and took the mercenaries by surprise."

"They went through a back door," he repeated quietly, drawing his hand over his face. He couldn't fathom the amount of insanity he was discovering lay within the Inquisitor.

"Thank you, soldier," Leliana said. "We will send troops to occupy the keep. You may remain here until they send out."

"And I'll be leading them," Cullen said abruptly, to the surprise of all. "You're dismissed, soldier."

Without waiting for any more drama to unfold, the young man left the war room. Josephine, who had risen from her desk to join the other two, looked at Cullen uncertainly. "Commander, I understand the circumstances are extraordinary, but is your presence really necessary?"

He turned to her with a sigh. "She took a keep with only a team of four, Ambassador. The sheer recklessness alone is cause for me to go there with all the wrath of the Maker."

"He's right," Leliana said, though she didn't seem to like the agreement. "I tend to see fewer men as an asset more often than not, but she is the Inquisitor. She cannot be risking herself in this way on a mere whim alone."

Josephine sighed, but she nodded. "I understand. I will make arrangements for your absence."

"Thank you, ambassador," he said, tossing his reports onto the war table. "I need to go pack."

The ladies watched him leave, and when Josephine turned to say something to Leliana, she was surprised to see a smirk on her face. "I hardly find the situation funny, Leliana," she said with some reproach. 

"I find it quite charming, actually," said Leliana with amusement.

Josephine narrowed her eyes. "You don't really agree with him, do you? Why do you want Cullen out in Crestwood?"

" _I_ don't want him out there, _he_ wants to be out there," she said cryptically, walking back around the war table.

"Leliana, are you manipulating our own people?"

She looked up. "Please, Josie, he'd have gone whether I agreed or not. I just decided to give him a little push. You _did_ see them at the Empress' masquerade, no?"

Josephine exhaled, but she was trying to repress a smile. "I did. He tried to tell me their dance was merely an escape from nobles, and then would speak no more of it when I didn't believe him."

"He's been surly since she left for Crestwood, as well," said the spymaster. "This isn't a simple game of matchmaker, Josie. The rest of us need as much peace as he does."

The ambassador nodded. "Alright, I understand. I won't say anything to him now, but don't test your boundaries."

"Oh, don't worry about that. I have plenty other things to keep my eye on," Leliana said, and she turned her focus back to the war table. Josephine returned to her desk in the corner to make some replies, and the war room was quiet again.

Josephine's quill tapped the desk, her mind lost in thought. "Just think of their children, though," she suddenly said with a note of wistfulness.

Leliana actually laughed. "Oh, Josie, you're too much."

. . .

Cullen felt slightly nervous when Trevelyan was not among the welcoming party. Several members of each camp had arrived to occupy the keep while waiting for Inquisition forces, and it was merely a skeleton guard that met the men. A very drenched, unhappy skeleton guard. Most seemed surprised to have the commander there, but he ignored the stares. "Where's the Inquisitor?" he asked.

"Next floor up, sir," said the highest ranking officer. 

He gave a nod, then went up the stone stairs, already noting how slick they were. Did this rain ever let up? It was only early evening, but one would think it was the middle of the night. 

On the next level, a few other soldiers met him, some having already set up tents on the masonry. “Sir!” called one, stepping forward. The uniform said she was one of Threnn’s requisition officers. “Have you brought the healers with you?”

He faltered, heart stopping for a split second. “What healers?”

She frowned. “We sent word just in the last day or two that we needed more healers for the injured here.”

“The report I received said there weren’t any of merit.”

“There weren’t at first, sir,” she said, and he felt his heart shrivel up now.

He asked his question hesitantly, unsure if he wanted to know the answer. “The Inquisitor… is she…?”

“In her room, sir. Just down that way.” She pointed to a sheltered area with the ceiling supported by several pillars. There was a flight of stairs, and then a hallway at the top. Without bidding the officer farewell, he pressed onward. His heart was hammering in his throat now. How badly had she been hurt? Oh, Maker, she shouldn’t be allowed to run off with only Cassandra to keep the party in check. A Tevinter mage and a mouthy dwarf were not shining examples of caution. The Inquisitor was supposed to have better protection, better safeguards, and _not_ take a keep with only a handful of people!

He heard voices behind one door and, assuming this was her room, pressed it open. First, he registered that she was awake, not dead or dying. She was also missing the majority of her clothes, but any pleasing effect this might have had was lost due to her soggy state and expression of pain. 

“You’ve had far worse, even I know that,” Dorian said, one hand on her upper thigh. He was removing a pile of bloody bandages.

“That doesn’t mean this doesn’t _hurt_!” she snapped, hissing a breath through her teeth. 

Hawke was standing beside her, one hand resting on her shoulder. “Ooh, I don’t know. Dorian probably won’t be able to heal that one. You might lose the leg.”

“Oh, should we send in your raging terrorist boyfriend instead?” Varric asked from where he leaned against the wall.

Hawke held up a hand. “Let’s not talk about Anders.” 

“Hawke, you’re teasing, right?” said Trevelyan, eyes tight shut as the wound was exposed to the air. Even Cullen had to stop himself from cringing. It was a large gash, possibly infected, running across the top of her right thigh. “Please tell me you’re teasing.”

“Of course I’m only teasing,” Hawke said, now running her fingers through Trevelyan’s wet hair. There was an odd note to her voice, though. Everyone’s expression seemed to tighten at her soothing. “You’ll be fine, even if Dorian’s complete shite at healing.”

“Would you like to stitch her skin back together?” Dorian asked, pausing in his work. “I can tell you it’s far less messy with the healing spells I do know than it would be with the needle everyone was suggesting.”

“The needle _has_ been known to work, Sparkler,” Varric put in.

“Threads and thimbles belong in a dress shop, not an infirmary.”

“Dorian,” Trevelyan forced out, “if you don’t make this work, I’d rather you call in your bloody tailor. From the looks of your clothes, he must have steadier hands than you ever will.”

Before he could retort, she let out a yelp of pain and pulled against Hawke’s hold on her. Dorian dropped his snark and gently held her leg. “Alright, alright, now, enough of that. Hush, darling.”

“She’s shaking,” Hawke said, wrapping an arm around Trevelyan’s shoulders instead of just holding with her hands. 

She really was. The Inquisitor’s face had paled considerably since Cullen had entered the room, and it seemed her jaw was glued shut. Her fingers gripped the sheets, hands that Cullen suddenly had the urge to hold, to offer comfort. 

“You gonna stand there all night, Curly?” Varric said quietly.

Cullen looked down at the dwarf, reddening slightly as he realized Hawke and Dorian had both looked back at him. “I came to get the status of the keep,” he said, turning back to Trevelyan. She had opened her eyes, but was panting slightly. “I was told there were only minor injuries. I was also told the leg wound had been Dorian’s.”

“I suppose it was all very confusing after the battle,” Hawke said dryly.

Dorian looked at her. “Confusing enough to mistake the Inquisitor for a mage? I don’t have terrifying two-foot knives in each hand.”

“There weren’t many injuries,” Varric said. His tone was heavier, devoid of his usual mirth. “And they weren’t bad until a couple days ago when Rosie woke up with a fever.”

“It’s not a _bad_ fever,” Trevelyan said, but she was leaning back on Hawke. “I’m not delirious at least.”

“Not _yet_. Another day like this one and you might start saying weird shit.” Varric looked over at Hawke. “If this gets any worse, I might just send you to go get Blondie. She helped the mages, he’ll help her.”

“We are _not_ sending for that mage,” Cullen said firmly. “I didn’t receive the request for more healers, but someone else likely did. They’ll come.”

“They’ll come tomorrow _evening_ at the earliest,” Varric said. “And that’s being optimistic and not accounting for the shit they’d have to wade through just to get here.”

“She’s had this fever for three days,” Dorian said, hand hovering over the wound while green magic flowed away from him. “All I can do is keep the worst of the infection back, but I can’t do it forever. If we have to wait for the healers, fine, but a faster solution would be preferable.”

“How do we know that would be faster?” Cullen asked.

The three looked at one another, something like guilt passing between them. “Because he’s not far away,” Hawke said quietly. Trevelyan had closed her eyes again, like she was drifting off to sleep.

Cullen’s jaw hardened. “You mean you know where that mage is?” 

“He could be here by tomorrow morning if I leave within the next hour or two,” she said. 

“I’d sooner jail him!” snapped the commander.

“And let the Inquisitor lose her leg over your sense of righteousness?” Varric shook his head. “You’ve really got your priorities in order, Curly.”

Cullen turned his glare to the dwarf, wondering how a witness of the events in Kirkwall could possibly be suggesting this. “Do you know what he cost me?” he said quietly. He hoped nobody asked, because he couldn’t even begin to describe how much that bloody mage had torn his life to shreds.

“I know what he cost _me_ ,” Varric shot back with just as much feeling. “I get it, Curly, I wanted to strangle him myself for a long time, but this has nothing to do with Kirkwall. Right now, he’s one of the only people who can stop Rosie’s cut from getting any worse. And if it gets worse for her, it gets worse for all of us.”

The commander and the dwarf stared at each other for a long moment. Cullen didn’t want to give in. He didn’t want that mage within five leagues of himself, not after what he did to the Chantry, not knowing that he was an abomination. Monsters didn’t repair people.

Varric shook his head, almost knowing Cullen’s thoughts to the letter. “You’re still so awash in self-pity, aren’t you? Kirkwall wasn’t just a shit-hole, good things came out of there, too. I’m not saying blowing up the Chantry was a great idea or anything, but if Blondie hadn’t done that, how long do you think it would have taken for people to find out about the Knight Commander? You were like her second-in-command and _you_ didn’t even suspect anything. You _saw_ what it was like. Are you really surprised that Anders snapped?”

Cullen was quiet again, though this time he couldn’t come up with any arguments. Hawke moved away from the bed, retrieving her blades from where they hung on a chair. “I’ll be back before morning,” she said quietly, slipping out of the room. Cullen didn’t stop her.

Dorian watched her go, applying a clean set of bandages over a salve he’d laid down on Trevelyan’s leg. “Now we just have one more problem to solve,” he said.

“Only one?” Cullen said weakly.

The mage looked at him. “If Cassandra had a fit when Hawke arrived, what do you think she’ll do to your Anders?”

“Ah, shit,” Varric said, putting a hand to his face. “Someone’s gotta watch her.”

“Oh, then it’s a good thing one of her dear friends has shown up in the nick of time,” Dorian said, pointedly looking at Cullen.

The commander paled, just the _thought_ of Cassandra finding out about it all making him shiver. But he _was_ one of the only people she listened to. “Maker’s breath,” he said quietly, passing a hand over his face. “I’ll make sure she’s occupied.”

“Thanks, Curly,” Varric said, and it was sincere. He meant more than he said in that thanks, and Cullen knew it. He accepted the gratitude without further comment.


	10. The Mage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders arrives, and the tension mounts.

Dorian was drifting off to sleep again. He had been for some time as he awaited Hawke’s return. Varric didn’t sleep at all, just sat staring into the fire. Trevelyan was absolutely unconscious and there was nothing he could do about it. The evening hadn’t exactly been an eventful one since Cullen left to occupy Cassandra. 

Then the door opened. Dorian straightened up as Varric turned, and Hawke entered first, her hair plastered to her head from the rain. Behind her, there was a figure obscured by a dark traveling cloak, imposing until Varric started to chuckle. “You’re not the damn undertaker, Blondie, let’s see that gaunt face of yours.”

Hawke smiled, and then the figure threw his hood back.

_Gaunt_ was putting it mildly.

The man had a long face, appearing even longer for his thin nose and hollow cheeks. Dark circles were painfully apparent under his eyes, but the eyes were oddly soft and hopeful. Strands of blond hair framed his face, though he’d attempted to pull some of it back, and his smile belied all the tiredness of his appearance. “Varric,” he said, the name coming out in a rush.

“Hey, Blondie.”

The man stooped and gripped the dwarf in a tight embrace, shutting his eyes tightly. “I thought I wouldn’t see you again.”

Varric patted his back somewhat awkwardly, as though he was attempting to tone down the emotion of the moment. “Alright, Blondie, you’re wet enough without getting tears on my jacket.”

“Sorry.” Anders pulled back, still looking down at him with that strange amount of happiness. “It’s just been a very long time.”

“And speaking of time!” Hawke said, throwing her arms out as though to grandly reveal the still-unconscious woman on the bed. “Anders, this is Inquisitor Trevelyan, and she is in _desperate_ need of your assistance.”

He looked at the Inquisitor and there was a sort of wonder caught in his gaze. “Indeed she is,” he said quietly, and Dorian couldn’t tell if he was referring to the fact that she was the Inquisitor or that she needed help.

“I’ve been cleaning the wound as best I can,” Dorian said, getting up from his chair. “I don’t know enough to keep the infection back, or to remove it entirely.”

“Many mages don’t,” Anders said without scorn as he stood by the bed. He rested a hand upon Trevelyan’s brow, getting a sense of the fever. “I will help you,” he murmured before moving to her leg.

Hawke looked over at Dorian. “He’s a big fan,” she said quietly. “Savior of the mages, and all that. Not what he was expecting from the Inquisition.”

Dorian made a noise of agreement. “It certainly did catch my attention.” He smiled slightly as he looked down at the bed, then flinched back as the healer’s eyes began to glow a vibrant blue. His hand tightened around his staff, drawing it to the ready position, when Varric grabbed his elbow.

"Cool it, Sparkler. Justice isn't a spirit you wanna mess with." The dwarf pulled him back a bit, almost as though giving a wider perspective. “This is how Blondie does his thing. He’s done it for years, long before we ever found him. Just trust him a little.”

“Also good to keep in mind that an angry Justice is what destroyed the Kirkwall chantry,” Hawke pointed out. 

With a grimace, Dorian lowered his staff. The presence of such a powerful spirit made him edgy, to say the least. Granted, usually when people in Tevinter summoned spirits, they were things like Desire demons and the like. From what Hawke had told him of Justice, the relationship was a bit more complex. 

As for Hawke herself, the air of nonchalance had faded. She sat in a chair, watching Anders, watching Trevelyan, watching for any signs of trouble. If this sort of magic was easy, they wouldn’t have needed the apostate. But it _did_ seem to be working. The wound on Trevelyan’s leg glowed, and it was shrinking, the corrupted skin turning pink and knitting itself back together. Confronted with such a sight, Dorian was prepared to let Anders go at it all day (and maybe get some tips later - Maker knew it would be necessary with Trevelyan’s perilous habits).

But peace only ever lasted until the hourglass was up.

The sound of a throaty accent outside the door roused Hawke from her sentry duty and caused Dorian and Varric to stiffen. Hawke lunged out of her chair and tried to reach the door, but it opened before she could stop it. “Cassandra!” she said, voice too shrill to be exactly welcoming as she tried to block Anders with her body. “My, my, what brings you here?”

“Move!” snapped the Seeker, and by the fire in her eyes, Dorian could assume she was already aware of the mage’s presence.

“Way to go, Curly,” Varric muttered as the pale commander entered at Cassandra’s heels.

The Seeker froze, staring in horror at the blue glow surrounding her Inquisitor. “It’s - he’s - that _abomination_ -”

“I think it would be wise if we all remained calm,” Dorian said quietly.

“Calm?” she snapped, whirling on him. “Of course a Tevinter would side with this! This is _blood magic_! This is a heathen, a monster! You let him within five _leagues_ of the Inquisitor, and now-”

“Now she’s being healed!” Varric snapped. 

“So say you! And I don’t trust _you_ , either!” she barked. “And you sent Cullen to distract me while this happened? That proves you _knew_ it was wrong!”

“I knew it would set you off! And Curly volunteered!”

“I - I didn’t exactly-”

“Shut up!” Cassandra and Varric screamed at the commander at the same time. He shrank back, silencing himself.

“I want him gone!” Cassandra snarled at anyone who would listen. “And I want Hawke out of here, too! Varric, you’re confined to Skyhold until I see fit! I’ve had enough of this treacherous band from Kirkwall and all of your terrible ideas!”

“Cassandra, enough,” said a weary voice from the bed. Those gathered immediately fell silent, looking in surprise to the woman who had so recently awakened. One hand was on Anders’ shoulder, and his eyes no longer glowed, nor did his hands. As he shifted, he helped her into a sitting position, and then he took a seat at the edge of her bed. 

Cassandra seemed to not know what to do after being shut down so abruptly. “But, Inquisitor, he-”

“Healed me,” Trevelyan finished, rubbing tiredly at her face. “At great cost to himself, I’ll remind you. He didn’t _have_ to come, did he?”

The mage shrugged. “Well, I did, considering you were-”

“Shush,” the Inquisitor commanded, and he did. She turned back to Cassandra and Cullen. “Listen, both of you. I’m not entirely aware of what’s going on, but I know enough to not want to lynch this man simply for existing. The matter is _complicated_ , as both of you well know. It was complicated before this wound, and it was complicated before the events in Kirkwall. In times like these, we need to find allies wherever we can get them, and if that means harboring a fugitive for a few nights so that I don’t _die_ , then leave well enough alone.”

Cassandra looked as though she was trying to swallow a handful of nails. “Then I must depart this room. Inquisitor, we will speak another time.” With that, she turned and stalked out of the room, hand tight upon her sword’s pommel. 

Cullen watched her go, hand on the back of his neck. “I’d better go calm her down. Inquisitor, it’s, ah… it’s good to see you’re doing better. For - for the cause, and… yes.” He ducked out of the room, unsuccessfully hiding his blush.

At their exit, there was the sense that a silent sigh of relief had just gone around the room. “I thought Justice was going to snap for a moment,” Hawke said, collapsing back into her chair.

“Are you alright?” Anders asked, suddenly looking concerned. “I wasn’t very aware of what was happening while-”

She waved a hand. “Fine. Just… stressed. Stress, I can handle.” 

Trevelyan laid a hand on his arm, gaining his attention. “Anders, is it? I’m afraid we haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Evangeline Trevelyan, leader of the Inquisition.”

He smiled slightly. “And I am, indeed, Anders, apostate mage and healer.”

“I’m quite thankful for that latter part,” she said. “I honestly didn’t think the wound was this bad, so I ought to thank everyone in this room for jumping into action when I wouldn’t.”

“‘Couldn’t’ is probably the more appropriate word here,” Dorian said. “There wasn’t much _doing_ for you in that state. We had to pick up the slack, as it were.”

Trevelyan narrowed her eyes. “Speaking of _slack_ , Dorian-”

“We can probably discuss the subject once you’ve rested,” he interrupted quickly.

“Which, ignoring Sparkler’s intentions, probably isn’t a bad idea,” Varric said, leaning against the wall. “For both of you. We can figure out what to do with Cassandra and the Rift and our rebel mage friend later.”

Trevelyan exhaled, nodding and already closing her eyes. “You have a point there, Varric.”

Anders, on the other hand, got to his feet, a bit unsteadily. “I ought to go, actually. I shouldn’t be here, and your Seeker is… well….”

“I can escort you out to a safe place,” Hawke said, standing with him.

“Anders,” Trevelyan said, extending a hand. “Stay. You’re safe so long as I say you are, and I’d rather you not travel like this. A day or two won’t kill Cassandra.”

He looked back at her uncertainly, and it was Varric’s encouraging look that finally convinced him. “Alright. Perhaps one night.”

“Good,” she said, settling back down onto the pillows. “And, yes, before you ask, you’re permitted to stay in Hawke’s room. But before either of you get any ideas, _no_ , you’re not allowed back at Skyhold. I’m grateful, not foolish.”

That actually pulled a grin from the morose mage, and he gave a respectful nod. “Understood, Inquisitor. I’ll let you rest.” He turned away, then Hawke assisted him out of the room. 

When they had left, Varric turned to the Inquisitor. “That was good for him. I think he needed that.”

“Well, I’m glad it was good for _someone_ ,” she huffed. “Dorian, I’m in desperate need of food.”

The Tevinter sighed. “Yes, of course you are. I’ll be right back, your worship, don’t you fret.” He moved off, but before he reached the door, he turned back. “Ah, yes, and should I have it delivered by Commander Cullen? Along with some candles, perhaps?”

“ _Go_!” she snapped, not even bothering to look at him.


	11. The Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have a thing for drunk Inquisitors.

For once, the Inquisitor was not on a mission, and was not immediately at hand. Normally, she could be found in the garden or running about the castle halls, but on this day, no one had seen her for hours. Staying in someone's line of sight had been her specialty, able to act when she was needed, which made one thing very clear.

She did not want to be needed.

And it wasn't as though anyone _did_ need her right away, but Commander Cullen sought company and hers would do in a trice. So he went to her quarters, because, though she seldom spent time there, everyone knew this and chose not to look there first. 

He mounted the stairs, then knocked at the door.

"Who is it?" she called.

"Cullen," he replied, glad he'd located her.

"Oh! Come in!"

He pushed open the door, then raised his eyebrows at the sight he found.

Trevelyan was perched atop her desk, her jacket undone and a mostly empty bottle in her hand. She grinned at him as he entered. "I found out where they put the wine cellar."

"What did you do?" he asked, amazed. 

"I found a lovely vintage."

"And?"

"And I drank it." 

He shook his head. "Is there a problem that I should be aware of?"

"No problems you aren't already aware of," she said easily, taking another sip of whatever was in the bottle. She considered it for a moment, a slight crease appearing on her forehead, then she said, "Varric was right."

Cullen's eyebrows went up again. "A rare statement."

She looked at him. "We foiled the Corypheus' plans. We've got _Skyhold_. The Empress wasn't assassinated, we're getting ahead in the war...." She set the bottle down with a definitive thunk. "I'm going to throw a party."

Oh, Maker. "Do you really deem that wise, your worship?" he asked. "You know what they say about making decisions while intoxicated."

"Oh, don't be a wet blanket, Cullen. But go on and call me 'your worship' some more, that's nice." Another sip. "And this isn't a silly drunk decision, this is a _logical_ step that we ought to take. Also, you're really just not going to change my mind."

"Don't you remember what happened the last time we threw a party?" He certainly did. He wouldn't be forgetting.

She slid off the desk, making a face at him. "Last time we had a party - last time, _I_ didn't plan it, this will be perfect, you watch." She walked towards the door, totally unconcerned with propriety and etiquette. "And I think I'll challenge the Iron Bull to a drinking game, that'll be hilarious. JOSEPHINE!"

Cullen shook his head. Trevelyan was going to be the death of him for more reasons than her heroic position. 

. . .

A party was certainly not out of the question, not even at a time like this. Josephine was only too happy to drop the myriad treaties and upset nobles in favor of planning a day of festivities for all the allies in Skyhold. Trevelyan helped to plan wherever she could, remaining thankfully sober during this time. And, seeing morale skyrocket, Cullen had to admit the idea wasn’t actually a bad one.

Of course, then the party was in full swing late in the evening, and the Inquisitor was intoxicated yet again.

"Confession time!" Trevelyan called to the few surrounding her, tilting dangerously as she gestured with her glass.

"Oh, this oughta be good," Varric said with a grin.

"I've been waiting for confession time all evening," said Dorian, also tilting a bit with his own glass of wine.

Cullen, on the other hand, was dreading whatever would come next, as was Cassandra. "Maybe we shouldn't," said the Seeker, but her warning fell on deaf ears.

"Varric, do you remember when you asked me if I was drunk when we were at the masquerade?" Trevelyan asked. "And it was sort of a popular question at the time, even though everything we were doing, I was told to do by someone else."

"You're gonna owe me, Sparkler," said the dwarf to the mage.

"Well, I was. I was a little bit drunk," said the Inquisitor.

"You told me you weren't!" Cassandra burst out. "I defended you!"

"And you were right to," Trevelyan said placatingly. "I wasn't _that_ drunk, but there was wine _everywhere_ and everyone was telling me to drink more, so I did. It was a _long_ night, remember, and then I found myself in the royal quarters and then I was fighting assassins, and perhaps I got a bit carried away when I was talking with Briala, _but_ -" she held up a finger, "apparently, I can operate rather well under the influence of alcohol." 

Cassandra put her face in her hands, but Varric and Dorian were both chuckling. "I knew a girl like that once," said the dwarf. "Except she wasn't a lady, she was a Rivaini pirate. Great ass, though, so I guess that's a similarity."

"Varric," Cullen said shortly. He was beginning to feel more and more like the sober minority.

"And another thing," Trevelyan said, to mixed response yet again. "When Varric is cleaning and recalibrating Bianca, sometimes he makes these sort of noises like he's-"

"I think confession time is over," Cullen said, taking her firmly by the arm. 

"Oh, it was just getting good," Dorian said as Varric elbowed him.

Cullen ignored him in favor of dragging away an Inquisitor who was well on her way to disgrace. "Inquisitor, I think that's enough."

"Here we go with the wet blanket thing," she said, rolling her eyes.

"I'm protecting you," he said firmly. 

"From what, my last night of fun before I die?" She pulled herself out of his grip, forcing him to stop.

He paused. "What are you talking about?"

She gestured widely with one hand. "Why _else_ would I throw a party in the middle of all this shit? I'm not getting another happy day, and they aren't either." She pointed at the largest knot of merrymakers, who had no idea of the things pouring from their leader's mouth. "You think I can actually _fight_ an archdemon? Just because I've got this silly glowy hand thing?" She laughed, the sound bitter and wrong, like a sour note. "I'm going to be _flattened_ and the only thing you should be protecting is your eyes from watching that. Or yourself, I suppose. Or not."

"Stop talking. Right now," he said tensely.

"It's not going to matter." Her jolly attitude was fading fast. "You all might as well die, you can't live under something like the Elderly One or whatever he is. And no one, I tell you, _no one_ has been taking into account that I'm not a hero. I've no idea why I got involved in this, I don't know what the hell I'm doing half the time, I just do what sounds good at the moment." She shook her head, tears sparkling in her eyes. "But you don't _care_ ," she whispered. "No one _cares_ , they just keep thinking I'll save everyone and they just have to follow me while I end this madness. But who's going to save _me_?" Her tears were spilling over now, a pitiful sight for one so great.

"It's not that no one cares," Cullen began, but she was hardly listening.

"What about _my_ survival? If everyone's just waiting for me, then I'm going to be standing there alone and naked against an unkillable monster, just like at Haven, and I'm not going to get lucky twice." She sniffled a bit, drawing her arms close to herself, closing herself off. " _My_ victory comes with death, and I don't even know why I'm here."

He stared at her, totally at a loss. This was their fearless leader? This was the person everyone had pledged themselves to? A terrified, lonely girl who'd wandered too far from her estates?

Right. A human.

He found he wasn't angry. He was greatly concerned, and maybe a little afraid. _He_ knew she could defeat Corypheus, but he didn't know if she'd survive such a thing. She probably wouldn't. And he couldn't bear to ask her to make such a sacrifice.

"Inquisitor!" called Josephine.

Cullen whirled around, slightly panicked at the thought of someone else seeing Trevelyan this way. Then he remembered that Josephine's lips could be sealed more tightly than a dwarven vault when the need arose. She approached him, then looked in confusion at the Inquisitor. "People are wondering if she will give a speech," she said hesitantly. "Shall I tell them she's retired to her chambers?"

"I think that's best-"

"No," Trevelyan said thickly. "No, I - I'll speak. The point of doing this was to... to inspire people. Cullen, I need your help."

He shared a look with Josephine, then nodded. "I'll let you know when she's ready," he said, moving back to the Inquisitor. "Come on, I believe the healer has something that can sober you up."

She leaned heavily against him and he gave her steadfast support, still worried she wouldn't be able to give a proper speech with her grievances so fresh. But despite his concerns, this party without a speech from her would seem incomplete.

The healer was in the garden, and she sent an errand boy to fetch a sobering medication. Only she had been prepared for what it would do.

The moment Trevelyan drank the foul-smelling liquid, she vomited violently into the bedpan the healer had placed before her. Cullen was even more shaken to see this image, but he knelt and put a hand on her back, rubbing with his fingernails as she had done for him once. She seemed to be finished when she was able to catch her breath, supporting herself over the pan with arms on either side. 

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Very, very sober," she said. "And I have a splitting headache, but I'll ignore that until I have a spare moment."

"You can still refuse."

"No, Cullen," she said, a hardness in her eyes. "I can't."

. . .

There was a knock at Cullen's door the next evening. He looked up from his desk, thinking it might be a page, and called, "Enter!"

It was not a page, but Trevelyan who opened the door. Her expression was serious, as it should have been. He straightened up, strongly resisting the urge to cross his arms as though he was looking at a wayward recruit. "Inquisitor," he said simply.

She stepped up to the desk, and he knew exactly why she had come. "I'm here to make a formal apology for my behavior last night," she said. "It was beyond unprofessional, and you received the worst of my actions, so I'm sorry. It will never happen again."

He stared at her for a long moment. All day, he'd been thinking of a million things to say to her that would make her see how angry he was, how out of line she had been. If she was one of his soldiers, he'd have booted her from the ranks without hesitation, and he was a firm believer that height of station had no bearing on punishment. Had anyone but himself heard her outburst, they might have lost all the morale they had been carefully supporting. Her actions had been foolish.

But she had come to apologize. She truly was sorry, he could see that, and he knew she really wouldn't let it happen again. And he could be angry with her and strip liberties from her all he wanted, but that wouldn't fix the actual problem. "If you were that distressed, why didn't you talk to someone?" he asked.

"Who am I going to talk to?" she asked wearily. "I'm _everyone's_ hero, Cullen. If I was a better one, I'd keep my fears to myself, but self control was not a skill I possessed last night. I'm sorry for what I said to you. I'm generally not so selfish. I'll keep a lid on it next time."

She turned to leave, but he couldn't let the conversation end there. "I never thought you were selfish," he said, making her stop. "Not after Haven. That choice was yours."

"I know it was," she said quietly.

He came around the desk, and she stood in wait for him. "You'll never have to make that decision alone ever again. You won't stand _alone_ against impossible odds. Do you trust me to make sure of that?"

Her brow furrowed and she shook her head. "I don't want that, either!" she said. "I can't let someone _else_ take the blow, that's even worse."

"Truly?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Ah." He nodded. "In that case, just you try and stop me."

Her mouth tightened. "Cullen-"

"I promised you when we got to Skyhold, do you remember?" he asked. "I'm a man of my word, Inquisitor. I'm keeping that promise."

She sighed, shaking her head. "Why?"

"You're needed," he said simply. "And... Haven was enough for me. I'd rather not lose you twice, if I can help it." 

She held his gaze for a long moment. They both remembered the kiss they'd shared in her room that night she'd woken up in a panic. Their relationship had so far been nothing but casual flirting and a heavy comment here and there, a kiss maybe once in a blue moon. Perhaps it would never amount to any more. As Inquisitor, she could hardly dare to hope for this much. His loyalty and care was enough. "Thank you, Commander," she said quietly. "I think I ought to head for my rooms now. I had a late night last night."

He let her widen the gap between them before he spoke. "If you're still distraught, Inquisitor, I invite you to share my rooms. Good company seems most effective in driving nightmares away. I'll even let you have the bed."

She turned back, smiling slightly. "And, what, you'll sleep on the floor?"

"I have accommodations," he said vaguely.

Looking at him curiously, she crossed the room and ascended the ladder to his recently finished bedroom. There was the bed, yes, but in the corner was a comfortable-looking cot. He must have requested it when his room was being reconstructed. She shook her head, hands resting on the top rung of the ladder. "You're a persistent man, Cullen," she called. "I welcome your offer."

"I'm pleased to hear it."


	12. The Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor and the Commander finally - _finally_ \- establish a relationship.

For a moment, Trevelyan was confused when she awoke. Then, she reminded herself that she was in Cullen's room on his bed, not her own. She felt marvelous, in comparison to how she'd felt yesterday, and she thought that was due to her reconciliation with the commander more than the night of blissful sleep. She sat up, combing her fingers through her hair so it wouldn't look too disheveled. 

Her eyebrow rose. In the corner near his spare cot, Cullen was dressing for the day, and Maker did clothes not do his shoulders justice. She watched with interest for a moment as the muscles of his back rolled with his movements, the Ferelden charm around his neck bumping against his bare chest as he bent over. He hadn't heard her move, and, after a moment, she gave a little cough.

He straightened up, shirt in hands and a blush creeping up his cheeks. "Ah, Inquisitor, I hadn't realized.... This is very indecent."

"I beg to differ," she replied.

The blush increased. Sometimes he couldn't stand her teasing. "You know, if this isn't going anywhere, we should stop pretending it will."

"Says the man with his shirt off."

He looked at her. "Inquisitor...."

She cocked her head at him. "Who decreed that a lady cannot love a very capable, very loyal man?"

He was taking her seriously this time, that much she could see, and he was struggling. "This isn't the _time_. We have so many other things to worry about."

"We seem to be rather worried about each other more often than not," she said. 

He gave her a hard look. "Are you really implying what I think you are?"

"Well, I _am_ wearing my ring of enhanced guard penetration."

His eyes widened and his face flushed scarlet. "I - wh - I own two of those, but it sounds _very_ different when you say it."

She reclined on the bed, allowing her nightshirt to drape around her form, letting the top of it open just enough to tease. "I can't possibly speak my intent any louder."

The air had become lodged in his throat. _Maker, have mercy,_ he thought, his pulse racing. He really, _really_ wanted to go over to that bed.

But he still remembered the way it felt to lose her the first time, before he’d invested so much. The way she’d spoken at the party, the way everything seemed to be heading…. It would utterly shatter him if she came to her end.

"I just... don't think it's wise."

Trevelyan frowned at him, then got off the bed. "Then I'll respect your decision," she said on her way to the ladder.

Cullen gritted his teeth. _You're an idiot. You’re such an idiot, she wants this, you want this, you might as well give it._

"Evangeline," he called. She had hardly paused by the time he caught her shoulder, turned her around, and pulled her to himself. 

Oh, blessed Divine, this was a world removed from what happened that late night in her room. Her hand fit the curve of his neck, her thumb on his jaw, and he pulled her waist up against himself. He redirected his lips away from hers so that he might discover her throat more closely, then her collar bone. She gasped as he hit a sweet spot, and he felt his blood heat up at the sound. 

Then the lower door banged open.

"Commander! Report from Sister Leliana!" called a voice from below.

Both froze, and Trevelyan could actually hear his teeth grinding. 

"Commander?"

"Leave," he ground out. "Now."

There was a pause, then, "I'll... leave it on your desk then."

They heard the door close, then he looked back into her eyes. "What were we doing again? Ah, yes...."

"Maker, Cullen," she said with a slight laugh as he sank his fingers into her rear. 

"You bring out the absolute worst in me," he murmured against her flesh, losing himself in her scent, her touch, her feel. 

Maker, preserve him.

. . .

Cullen lay in his bed in one of the most blissful settings he could imagine. Trevelyan was lying against him, her nose close to his neck so he could feel the tickle of her breath. The fingers of her left hand were splayed across the blond hair on his chest, feeling his heartbeat and his rhythmic breathing. For such a mighty warrior, she was rather soft. 

He considered her hand for a moment, then raised it to his lips and kissed the knuckles, which were still healing from some battle or another. The tenderness of his own action caused him to blush. He’d never had a reason to be so tender before.

A smile crossed her face. “What are you doing with my hand?” she asked, a fuzzy quality in her voice.

He tightened his hold around her shoulders for a moment, having no idea how to answer, and then he kissed the top of her head. He really had nothing much to say about anything. 

A pounding at his door ruined the moment. “No,” he moaned quietly as someone called for him. 

“I’m the Inquisitor!” she groaned into his chest. “I order you to stay in bed with me.”

He actually laughed at that, a loud and full laugh the likes of which hadn’t passed his lips for a long time. “I’d be only too happy to follow that particular order if the excuse wasn’t so flimsy.”

“Flimsy?” she said, pushing herself up on her arms, but before she could launch into a tirade, he leaned up and kissed her. “I’m not flimsy,” she mumbled against his lips.

He smiled and pulled back. “No, you’re not,” he said as he pushed stray hair behind her ear. “But duty does call, dear, and I must answer.” As though on cue, the pounding at the door increased in volume and he pulled a face.

She huffed, but he sensed she was giving up. “Then you had better put some trousers on. I doubt your messenger would appreciate full-frontal exposure at this time of day.”

He sat up as she rolled off him, brow drawn together. “Would he _ever_ appreciate that?”

“Not nearly as much as I would, I can assure you.” She stood from the bed, already reaching for her clothes. Every layer made him more and more disappointed that they couldn’t simply lie in bed all day. 

Still, there was that damn pounding. 

“One moment!” Cullen yelled, pulling at the drawstring on his trousers. He managed to throw on enough clothes to be presentable, then half-slid down the ladder to his office. He opened the door, expecting to see a messenger, but was met with something entirely different instead.

“Congrats, Curly!” said the dwarf before him, entirely too pleased with himself. Behind him, Sera threw an armful of colored ribbons into the air, decorations that remained from the recent party. Dorian was also present, leaning against the wall with yet another smile that Cullen didn’t like. 

“I don’t - I don’t know what you’re talking about. What do you want?” the commander demanded, brushing off the ribbons and hoping he wasn’t blushing. 

“We’re actually here for Her Worship,” Dorian said lazily. “However, our archers decided we’d make rather a show of it.”

“What - what makes you think she’s here?” he blustered.

“Your stuttering,” Varric said pointedly.

“Oh, come on!” Sera said, leaning against the dwarf. “You don’t _really_ think we had no idea, do you? All that time makin’ goo goo eyes and thinkin’ no one noticed, you’re sick, the both of you. ‘Bout time you got yourself laid, and now Bull owes me five sovereigns, so _ha_ and all that.”

He gaped at her, pulling the last ribbon from his shoulder. “What - that’s absolutely _none_ of your business-”

“Cullen, you locked your doors for a whole night and half the day,” Trevelyan said, having descended from the bedroom. She put a hand on his jaw and turned him to face her. “ _They know_.”

He frowned, but conceded. He also had no regrets for his actions. “They didn’t need to throw a bloody party about it,” he muttered.

“Oh, but we did,” Dorian said. “Maybe you won’t be so awfully tense all the time now. At any rate, we need to take your lady love away so we can go gallivanting across the Emprise Du Lion. I promise, we’ll return her soon.”

“I’ll return when I like,” Trevelyan said, pushing past Dorian and Varric as she left the office. “Oh, and Cullen,” she turned, straightening out her coat which looked entirely too familiar, “I’m keeping this. It gets cold in the Emprise.”

He didn’t want to smile like this in front of the troublemakers, but the image and what it implied made it hard to help. He smiled, once more filled with the same emotion he’d had when he woke up that morning. “Then I hope it keeps you warm, my lady Inquisitor.”

She grinned back even though Sera was now making retching noises, then she turned and strode away. Varric patted Cullen on the arm, and then, finally, the trio of mayhem was gone as well. 

At least Cullen finally had something to look forward to.


	13. The Bull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trevelyan has difficulty coping with the decisions she's made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the war table is a massive tree stump that can't be flipped. I took some artistic license.

Trevelyan's nails were digging into the war table hard enough for splinters to start digging into her fingers. Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana were staying well away, wanting to comfort and, at the same time, chastise. She didn't need it.

"Leave."

The advisers looked at one another, uncertain. 

" _Leave_ ," she reiterated, her tense shoulders hunching, body coiled to strike. They left, Cullen holding the door, Leliana stiffly leaving first, and Josephine lingering with sympathy. Then the great doors closed, and tears leaked from the corners of Trevelyan's eyes. She was still holding back, still tense and coiled, and where would that energy go?

She found the outlet. With a massive heave, she flipped the entire war table onto its side, scattering pieces and maps and books across the floor. Candles snapped and were pulverized beneath the edge of the heavy cedar. 

_Now, look. What good did that do?_ She put her hands to her face, looking over the damage. It would take more than an hour to get everything put back the way it was, that careful, precise layout of her war.

The war she was only going to lose for everyone.

She never heard the door open, but she did hear it close. "Pretty intense reaction, boss," said a deep voice.

She turned, angry tears burning her eyes. "You aren't supposed to be here."

"Yeah, I know. Josephine gave me a pretty hard time," Iron Bull said, stepping further into the room. He looked at the mess for a moment. "You scared the shit out of her, by the way."

Trevelyan exhaled, pushing a hand through her hair. "I should resign."

"You can't."

"I _know_."

"It's more than the mark on your hand. You know that, right?"

"No, it's not!" she snapped, whirling to face him. "The mark is the _only_ thing keeping me in position, especially since that disaster at the Storm Coast! I made the _wrong call_ , and I knew I was doing it, and I'd do it again. That's not a leader, that's a-"

"That's a friend," he said quietly. "And even though I know it probably wasn't the right call, I value what you do for me more than I should. I value the Chargers, too. And I guess... since I don't view it as a mistake... I probably deserve to be labeled Tal Vashoth."

"You don't," she growled, hands balled into fists. "If I was in command of a band of mercenaries, it would be different, but I'm in control of an army. I have to win this war and I'm _not_ cut out to win. I sacrificed an alliance with the Qunari, I let mages run free throughout my fortress, one of them being _Tevinter_ , and I have a man suffering from withdrawal as one of my advisers. That’s not even to mention the fact that I embraced the mage who _started_ the rebellion! It's a wonder I have any allies!"

"Yeah, it is," he said flatly. "If you can put all those together and still come out with the army you've got, keep doing what you're doing. Saving people gets you more help than politics in a lot of places." He stepped forward, and she noticed the anger flaring in his eyes. "Do _not_ apologize for the decision you made. Don't _ever_ apologize for saving my Chargers. They're worth every moment of the exile I earned, and I'd make the same choice again. I put that all on you, and I'm sorry, but I'm okay with what you told me to do. My blade will always be yours."

Her arms were folded tight against her chest and she wouldn't look at him, but she did feel a bit better. More calm, at least. Part of her frustration had come from believing Bull would hate her either way she'd gone, but he didn't. And he had no reason to. He'd been acting like a Tal Vashoth long before he ever earned the title. "Thank you, Bull," she said quietly. "You can leave now."

He nodded. "Come by the tavern, boss. Chargers will be more than happy to drink with you."

"Thank you." She turned away, and as the door closed behind him, she sighed at the mess she'd made. She still wasn't completely convinced her role as Inquisitor wasn't a huge mistake, but she felt a bit better about her own choices. After a long while, she opened the door and called Josephine in.

The ambassador looked at the fallen table with a carefully neutral expression. Trevelyan still felt guilty. "I'm sorry," she said, rubbing a hand over the back of her neck. "I thought you'd know where everything goes more than me. I just... needed some help."

Josephine looked at her, something like affection shining in her eyes. "I'd be more than happy to assist, Inquisitor," she said, but as Trevelyan moved, she put a hand on her shoulder. "No one leader is perfect, you know. But you are a good one, and sometimes we would do better to trust you rather than judge you." 

"You're my advisers, Josephine," Trevelyan said with a slight smile. "If you don't judge me, I'm lost. Let's clean this up."


	14. The Quillback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor is injured once again during conflict in the Western Approach, and her team members begin to doubt their mission.

Trevelyan crouched low behind a dusty rock, straining her ears to listen for any new sounds. "Varric?" she said quietly.

"Nothing to report, Rosie."

She nodded, then got to her feet and looked around. Clear space for miles, aside from the odd dark patch several hundred yards away that betrayed a camp's position. The frankly ragged and smelly team trooped across the sandy plateau, arriving to stiff smiles and hot, if rather tasteless food from the scouts and soldiers. 

"Word for you, sir!" said one of Threnn's requisition officers.

"If it's another damn geological survey, I don't want to hear it," said Trevelyan. "I'm leader of the Inquisition, not a bloody archaeologist."

"Someone sounds like they've had a long day."

She pulled up short with surprise, turned and, despite her irritation, broke into a smile at the broad newcomer. "Cullen! What are you doing all the way in the Western Approach?"

"Venatori agents," he said simply. "A little bird told me there was a large concentration out here. It's time we made a bigger move."

She cocked an eyebrow. "That little bird has a name, and she wonders why you never use it."

"You'd be wise to heed her," Dorian said. "I've seen her cut down bandits just for looking at her the wrong way."

"And that brings up another reason why I'm here," said Cullen. "I've been tasked with overseeing your team's functionality, and that includes while fighting."

"You've seen it," Trevelyan said.

He sighed. "I know, but some of our allies would like an up-to-date report from me personally concerning the Inquisition's capability. Who better to study than the Inquisitor herself?"

"If you're going to 'study' the Inquisitor, I think we'd rather you do it inside a tent," Varric said, a mischievous gleam in his eye.

"Varric," Cassandra said tersely, giving him a look. "We'll accommodate you accordingly, Commander."

"As I knew you would," he said with a respectful nod. "So, Inquisitor, I’m only here to observe. What is your next step?"

Trevelyan looked around, then checked a few of the maps on the table. "We figured out where the Venatori might be, but there's a possible Warden camp along the way that we should look at." She glanced up apologetically. "Special request from Blackwall. I couldn't refuse."

"And the lyrium mines, don't forget those!" Varric called. "The Approach is practically riddled with them."

"Yes, Maker smite me should I dare forget about the lyrium mines," she muttered. "At any rate, it looks like we'll be heading east."

Cullen nodded. "Very well, east it is. Take some time to rest before we go."

She looked at him. "Yes, Commander," she said with a hint of sarcasm.

His cheeks turned pink. "I didn't intend-"

"Oh, please, spare us," Dorian moaned, fanning himself with his hat. "It's hot enough without you two getting all steamy."

Cullen shut his eyes as though counting to ten. "That's not going to stop, is it?"

Trevelyan turned away. "I kept our relationship under wraps. Naturally, they were the first to know." She made her way over to one of the largest tents, usually reserved for her and the team, should they want it. Some idiot had left the flaps closed, however, which made it blistering hot. She'd resupply, then leave as soon as possible.

Except that the flap opened again a minute later. "Evangeline," Cullen said in a low voice.

She rose from her crouch and turned, pulling her hood down. "Commander."

Just like he did on the battlements, he spared not another word before taking her by the waist and pulling her close. She let their lips remain together for a moment, then pulled back. "Perhaps more when I've had a bath," she said with a smile.

"Perhaps more _during_ the bath."

"Settle down, Commander, your troops are within earshot."

He smiled widely at her, then she left the tent. 

. . .

"According to Blackwall, the camp's location isn't far from here," said Cassandra as the team descended into yet another canyon. 

"Did he mention if it's next to some sort of oasis?" Varric asked, a slight pant in his voice.

"The Oasis is miles away, Varric," Trevelyan said. "What about mercenaries, Cassandra? Do we know of any more outposts?"

"No, but there may also be a Rift nearby," said the Seeker.

Cullen looked between the two. "This is fun place to explore, isn't it?"

"The Fallow Marshes were worse." Trevelyan looked at Varric and Cassandra for confirmation, then nodded. "Much worse. At least here the dead don't come clawing at you if you knock a pebble into the water."

"Pretty easy to kill the dead, though," Varric put in.

"Now I'm glad I wasn't there for your initial adventures," Dorian said.

They walked on through the canyon, sliding sometimes on the loose sand and feeling pressed by the heat. At the very least, they all had some sort of eye protection from the gritty wind. Trevelyan wore her hood, and her companions each had a mask courtesy of the Orlesian court. They looked ridiculous, but they were extremely functional, and Trevelyan always reminded them that they provided an excellent aesthetic. 

"Is that your stomach growling?" Varric asked of Dorian.

"As though I'd let myself get that hungry."

"How about you, Curly? Am I hearing a longing for lunch?"

"That's not me...." Cullen said slowly.

"Quillback!" Cassandra called, raising her shield. 

"Cassandra! Cullen! Front! Dorian and Varric, stay back!" Trevelyan barked, drawing her knives. The two great warriors charged forward towards the spiny beast that charged them in return. Varric and Dorian already began raining fire down upon it, but they had discovered before that these creatures had tough skin. 

Trevelyan was about to leap into the fight when something heavy and solid slammed into her side. A split second after, something sharp bit through her leather armor and into the skin. She lashed out with her blade and connected with a second quillback, fending it off for the moment. "Varric!"

"I'm on it, Rosie!"

A heavy arrow lodged itself in the beast's hide, but it slowed only for a moment. It charged for another bite, and Trevelyan raised both knives in an x-shape. She nicked its snout and carved a few teeth out, succeeding in making it very, _very_ angry.

By this time, Cassandra and Cullen were nearly finished with the first. The former threw her grappling chain, yanking the second quillback away from Trevelyan for easier access. The beast didn't like this one bit. Its back arched, and both warriors stepped back. "Shields up!" Cassandra called.

The order was too late for the Inquisitor. She was already in the midst of her rush maneuver, and when she struck the animal, its long, razor sharp quills launched. 

There was a terrible gasp, not a scream. "No!" Cassandra shouted as Varric yelled, "Rosie!" Cullen hadn't seen what happened behind his shield, was too in the thick of battle to realize what was going on. He reemerged when he deemed it safe and struck out. Cassandra, on the other hand, buried her sword to the hilt in the beast's side, a powerful move even for her. Cullen watched in surprise as the quillback keeled completely over.

When he looked up to congratulate his companions, however, he found them all in a cluster several feet away. One person was blocked from view.

"What happened?" he demanded, striding over to the group. 

Cassandra and Dorian were kneeling, the latter performing some sort of magic, while Varric seemed to be keeping watch for more monsters. Trevelyan was covered in blood and quills, a large one protruding from her abdomen. 

"We have to return her to the camp," Cassandra said.

"I can't move her like this," Dorian shot back.

"Just... snap the quills or something," Trevelyan grunted.

Maker's breath, she was _awake_. 

"She's right," Cullen said, kneeling beside Cassandra as he tried to control his racing heart. "We can't pull them out, not here, but snapping the longer ones might prevent them from going any deeper."

"And how do you propose we get her out of here?" Dorian demanded. "There could be twenty more of these things in the vicinity, we can't get all the way back without running into more trouble."

"If we have Varric scout ahead, we can walk a clearer path," Cassandra said. 

"And what about carrying her?"

A dark cloud seemed to build around her with every argument. "I understand how _inconvenient_ it is to have an injured soldier, but we have to _try_." She pushed herself to her feet and began to walk a small circle of the area. "Snap those quills! Then we'll find something to make a litter. Dorian, if you're inclined to help, we're going to need your magic."

The mage looked at her, jaw tight. "My intention wasn't-"

"Help her, and we'll forget it," said the Seeker quietly.

"I might as well start scouting," Varric said, hefting Bianca. He was alternating between staring with wide eyes at the Inquisitor and looking anywhere else, gripping his crossbow to stop his hands from shaking. "There's no telling where the next beast is gonna pop out. I’ll look East."

So that left Cullen to the really difficult job. He looked down at Trevelyan, whose breaths had become increasingly more ragged. "This is probably going to hurt," he warned her quietly.

"It already hurts," she rasped. "And it wasn't even... a damn Venatori."

"You'll get your chance," he replied, but the truth of her words struck him. It hadn't been Venatori, or Darkspawn, or a mighty High Dragon. It had been a mindless desert quillback that had wandered into their path. Life had never seemed so unfair. 

He took hold of the largest quill as firmly yet gently as he could manage. Trying to actually move it as little as possible, he angled his hands and snapped it several inches from where it met her flesh. She gasped, let out the barest hint of a cry, and then she was unconscious.

He looked down at her, freezing for a moment. "Evangeline?"

He flinched slightly at the sound of Cassandra's shout and then a blade hitting wood. When he turned, she was dragging a long, thick branch from a dead tree his way. "Now they can be something more than an obstacle," she said, letting it fall beside her wounded comrade. 

Dorian gained his own not long after and dragged it over. He then removed his outer mage's robe and stretched it between the branches. It was an awkward fit, but with help from his magic, he managed to make it work. With more care than handling a newborn child, Cullen and Cassandra shifted Trevelyan onto the makeshift litter. 

"Varric!" Cassandra called.

The dwarf appeared momentarily. "Seeker."

"We're heading back. Start ahead."

It was the first time Cullen, or any of them, had seen Varric accept a command from her without a smart retort or outright complaining. He gave one last look to Trevelyan, then started off. 

"I'll carry it," Cullen said.

Cassandra nodded. "As will I."

Dorian looked between them. "We'll take turns," he said.

He never got his turn. The two warriors were so intent on their task that they gave no thought to actually taking a break. With the heat and sun, the scent of blood was strong. Trevelyan still breathed, but she looked very much dead. From time to time, Dorian would administer some basic elfroot medicine, a few of the only healing spells he knew, but she required so much more. Sometimes she would stir, and Cullen would find himself murmuring assurances to her without knowing quite what he intended to say. She seemed so frail, so different from the battle-hardened Inquisitor.

How could it have come to this? It was a dumb animal that had no idea of the importance of its actions. Yet here was the hero, felled by a spike. 

They returned to the camp. This time, tight smiles were replaced with flushed faces and concern. Field healers standing by leapt into action, ushering the warriors inside with the litter, then promptly kicking them out.

"I outrank you!" Cassandra cried. "If I want to stay, I will stay!"

"We need the room to work, Seeker," said one of the two healers tersely.

"You'll let me in! I have-"

"Cassandra, there's nothing we can do," Cullen snapped. "Leave them be and they can get to their work faster."

She crossed her arms, but remained outside the tent, still staring at the flaps. Cullen observed her rigid posture, her pained expression, and he remembered a conversation he once had with Trevelyan concerning the Seeker. 

_"Everything fell apart for her for a moment. When she realized Varric had lied... that things could have been different.... I couldn't fathom her guilt. And after all this time, she's more than an adviser to me, and I think I've become more than just a charge. And she suddenly saw that I didn't have to be the chosen one, it could have been someone better equipped, and she just felt so sorry."_

"I should have been helping her," she said roughly. "You had the other one handled. I could have shielded her, as well, but I didn't."

"She won't blame you," he said quietly.

"But _I_ blame me," she shot back. "I let her fall. It was my failing that brought her here." She shook her head, utterly distraught. "All this time, I've been trying to justify everything. Why would the Maker let all of this happen? All this war and destruction? And... I saw her, I stood behind her as she rescued person after person, closed the Rifts, aided refugees, and I thought... maybe... she truly was the Maker's gift for us, Andraste's Hand that would redeem our world."

He watched her carefully, saying nothing for fear of upsetting her further. Her voice trailed away as she continued to stare at the tent. Then, in a move of agitation, she turned herself away. "But then He let her fall by a dumb beast and I wonder what the purpose was at all. Why put her - put _everyone_ through so much just to let it end this way?"

"My answer would be that it's not the end," said Cullen. "If she's the Maker's champion, He'll help her."

"Or maybe she'll help herself, and He's got nothing to do with it," said a new voice.

Cassandra whipped around. "Varric, I'm warning you."

"To what, not speak rationally?" he asked. "Maybe it's time to start trusting in what you can actually see. I believe in her."

"But that doesn't help me!" she snapped. "Where is our purpose? Where is the justification for her suffering if Corypheus is right and there is nothing out there beyond us? If he's right then _what's_ the _point_?"

"The point is that we've got two sides we can see," he said firmly. "We've got the Inquisitor fighting for peace on one side, and we've got that blighted Elder One wreaking chaos on the other. There's still something to fight for even if no god sits up on a holy chair watching us fuck ourselves over."

Tears were actually shining in the Seeker's eyes, her pain written in her body language. She put her hands to her face, shaking her head. "Then I understand less than nothing," she said, leaving to find her own tent.

Cullen watched her go, then looked down at the dwarf. "Saying things at the inappropriate time seems to be your specialty, Master Tethras."

"I'm surprised you're not going off the deep end," he replied. "Are you one of those quiet worriers that scare the piss out of me?"

He sighed heavily. "No. I'm just... tired."

Varric nodded. "Yeah... I know the feeling. Maker, this is a mess."

A mess. A mess was trying to hire a decent cook after moving to Skyhold. Every other bloody thing that was happening was nothing less than a catastrophe, a damned apocalypse, and supposedly, the Inquisitor was the only one who could end it. This was the worst Trevelyan had ever been hurt, and this time there was no renegade spirit healer around to help. Now they were literally on their own in the middle of a vast desert, as opposed to the metaphorical sense that was their usual. "I'm going to... sleep, I think," Cullen said after a long moment, his voice dead. "I want someone to tell me if anything changes."

Varric nodded, taking a seat nearby. "Yeah, I'll get on that."


End file.
